


Uptown Boys

by Valeris



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Darcyland, F/M, Fluff, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Kid Fic, Kid Phil Coulson, Steve Rogers and the 21st Century, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-03-15 19:44:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 21,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3459584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valeris/pseuds/Valeris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raising a five year old billionaire would probably be way easier for Darcy if Tony would stop trying to 'help'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Captain America

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Thanks for not burning up the whole ship.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3247865) by [Valeris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valeris/pseuds/Valeris). 



Phil was doing the little dance kids do when they’re either really excited, or they have to pee.  Based on the circumstance, Darcy felt inclined to go with excited, but wasn’t entirely ready to rule out ‘has to pee’.  (He'd had a lot of cocoa this morning.)

Getting him jacked up on sugar before the biggest day of his young life seemed designed to cause a meltdown.  The cocoa had been more for her than for him, really, because anyone who could face a day full of five year olds without something sweet and chocolatey in their system was a better woman than Darcy.

Not that Phil really counted as a five year old, he was way too cool.  That was why they were here-- because Captain America seemed to be the only thing that made Phil act like a five year old.  There was something a little creepy about that level dignity and composure on such a little kid.  Darcy hadn’t been ready to parent a child when Phil had landed on her doorstep.  Maybe he had sensed that, because he was doing his best to not be a child.

It was weird.  Blah blah blah, child psychology, blah blah blah ‘different ways of coping with grief’-- it was weird.

He wasn’t even ticklish.

Darcy had stumbled onto Phil’s love of Captain America when she was cleaning his room.  (Not that she needed to, Phil kept his room immaculate.) But she still liked to pretend that she was helping him straighten it up so she didn’t feel so extraneous.  

Darcy knew Phil was acting like this because he was afraid Darcy didn't want him.  He was trying to be easy.  But sometimes it felt like he thought she was too irresponsible to look after him.

Well, he was five, he didn’t think that, but most of the rest of his family had.  The reading of the will had been like one of those dreams where you're naked and everyone is staring at you.  It had made her feel small, and incredibly aware that her clothes were not as nice as theirs.  She’d only been working for the Starks for a few months when Phil’s father had died. She had no idea he’d changed the terms of his will, or when he’d done it, or why.  

For once her utter lack of poker face had been an asset.  It was hard to accuse her of manipulating Howard when she looked as calculating as a dead fish.  All the tabloids seemed to have that picture-- Darcy with her mouth open, gobsmacked.

The only member of the family who wasn't an ass about it was Tony, irony of ironies.  

He’d been all quiet and stunned with the rest of them, before  letting out a long breath.

He’d smiled at Darcy, this huge blinding grin.

“That’s great, no, this is fantastic, this is perfect!  Yes, absolutely, Darcy, why didn’t I think of it before, Phil likes you, well of course he likes you, you’re likeable, I like you.  I mean, I think this is a great idea.  I’m not… I love Phil, of course I do, he’s my brother, love him like a brother, but I’m not really responsible, per say, I was going to ask you to stay on, keep looking after him, but this is better really, this is a much better idea, stability, children need stability, and Phil is a child, so he needs that, someone stable, someone--”

At that point, Pepper had put a hand on his shoulder, and Tony had stopped talking all at once.

For all that he’d let out that big breath, no one talked that much if they weren’t trying really hard not to say something else.  Darcy was a talker too, she understood.  She tried to include Tony-- sent him text messages about Phil, kept him in the loop.  When she’d found Phil’s Captain America drawings, it had been impossible not to take a picture and send it to him.  It was too adorable not to share.

After that, things had sort of spun out of control.  Tony did not know the meaning of ‘restraint’.  When he promised Phil could meet Captain America, Darcy had assumed he would be getting them tickets to one of the Captain’s public appearances.

But no. He had tried to pay the Captain to pay a house call through a series of increasingly insulting messages left with his agent.  Followed by a level of throwing money around that was impressive even for Tony.

And now Captain America hated Tony Stark and anything to do with the name Stark. Because he was an Entitled Capitalist Pig.  Or something along those lines.  There had been some angry tweets that she had not read.  (Darcy didn't like to believe that anything that happened on Twitter was socially relevant.)

Still, with all his money throwing Tony had been able to get a ticket to one of the Captain’s more intimate personal appearances.  Just 50 people, a small meet and greet. Sure, the Captain had said that no amount of money would make it worth his time to meet ANY Stark (alright, maybe she had skimmed some of the tweets), but Darcy reasoned that neither of them were actually Starks.  Darcy Lewis was certainly not a Stark.  And while Howard Stark was Phil’s father, he had his mother’s last name.  So he was a Coulson, and no one had to know otherwise.

Her kid was going to get to meet Captain America.  He was going to shake his hand, or sit on his lap like Santa, or whatever it was that superheros did at personal appearances.

The line to get into the building was full of other wiggly kids with their parents.  The adults ran the gambit from bored-out-of-their-minds to oh-my-god-is-that-Justin-Bieber levels of excitement.  Darcy felt relieved to see that most of them had dressed very nicely, because it had taken 45 minutes to talk Phil out of wearing a tuxedo.  He had been horrified that Darcy was planning on wearing jeans and a cardigan. They had eventually compromised on a 50s style black dress with high heels, on the condition that Phil was not allowed to wear any sort of suit.  Darcy was concerned that even a button up shirt and slacks would be too much, but a few of the other kids seemed to be wearing expensive stuff. She didn’t want to walk in essentially waving a sign that said “Yes, my five year old only wears Armani, we’re fabulously wealthy”.  That would just invite trouble.  Still, the tickets had been expensive even without the ‘you’re an asshole’ surcharge that had been tacked on to whatever check Tony had written.

None of the other parents seemed to find Phil’s outfit strange.  Darcy was pretty sure they were blending in until they got to the security person.

 _Shit._ Darcy thought, because immediately, she knew they’d been made.  The way the woman glanced over at them in line, and then back again, told Darcy everything she needed to know.

Her backup came in the form of two ridiculously good looking guys, further evidence that Darcy's life was one of the ways that God entertained himself.  Sure, one of them had a prosthetic arm, but Darcy was an equal opportunity employer. The other one had a frowny look on his face, but he looked like the kind of guy who laughed easily. On a good day, Darcy would have had at shot with at least one of them, but today was clearly not a good day.  

Today, these men were not potential dates.  These men were the enemy.

She narrowed her eyes at them, trying for that angry snake face that Jane did.   It was the most intimidating face that she’d ever seen on a small woman.  As Darcy was also small, it seemed like a good move.

The one with the arm raised an eyebrow at her, but the frowny faced guy seemed to think she was funny.  He looked like someone who was happy a lot, who knew how to smile.

He smiled at her when they got to the front of the line.  It was a good smile, disarming and friendly.  Darcy narrowed her eyes a little more.

“Excuse me miss, could I speak with you for a moment?”  He said, glancing down at Phil, who was looking extremely five years old. Damn it, even that was a point in this guy’s favor. He got it that Phil was a person who might be hurt by this conversation.  Picking up on the atmosphere, Phil gripped Darcy’s hand with more force than usual.

One-armed guy was totally on it though.  “Hey,” He said, kneeling down so he was at eye level with Phil, “I hear you’re a big fan of Cap.  Do you know who I am?”

Phil looked at him blankly for a moment  before dropping Darcy’s hand to grip the man’s shirt like he expected him to try and escape.  “Oh my god.”  He whispered, eyes comically wide in shock.  “Oh my god!  Darcy, Darcy, it’s BUCKY!”

Watching Phil have his little breakdown was the most adorable thing she had ever seen in her life.  He was so excited he was twisting in half circles like a washing machine, clutching the bottom of Bucky's shirt.  He had forgotten all dignity and was overflowing with details about this guy and his history with Cap. “Darcy, it’s Bucky!” made a few more ecstatic appearances.  He seemed to have no problem following Bucky to the side of the line.

In spite of herself, Darcy felt impressed--that didn’t mean she was pleased.  She and the guy with the happy face stepped behind the barricade.  He was watching his friend and Phil with a small smile.

Darcy could feel herself getting livid, looking at his stupid handsome smug face.

“Well.  That was really smooth, dude.  Way to get my kid even MORE excited before you kick us out.  Thanks for that, really.  I mean, this is basically the only thing he’s looked forward to, at all, since his father died, so I’m glad that you’ve gone out of your way here to be cruel to a five year old.  It mean so much to me, I can’t even tell you.”

Happy Face Guy looked totally dumbstruck.  “Uh… No, I mean, of course that’s not what I was trying to do.”

Aaaand now he looked guilty.  Darcy felt a little stab of hope, because she knew how to work guilt.  She’d had a Jewish mother.

“Look, what’s your name?”

He perked up a little.  “Um, Sam, miss.”

“Well Sam, in the immortal words of Yoda, ‘there is no try’.  So if you’re not getting a recently orphaned kindergartener all pumped up, and then sending him home without getting to meet his hero Captain America, thus emotionally scarring him for life, then what are you doing right now?”

Okay, technically Phil was not a kindergartener, he was way too smart for that, but it was an essentially true statement.  Sam’s face, which had started to look a little more cheerful, plummeted again.  He looked so sad and confused that Darcy almost felt bad for him.  

She pictured Phil’s drawings, the little Captain America on the lawn of their house holding his hand, while a little Darcy waved at them from inside.  (There was also a little Tony building things in the attic of the drawing, but as Tony was the cause of their problems, Darcy wasn’t really ready to include him at the moment.)

With that image to steady her, Darcy went in for the kill.  “I know you’re just doing your job here, but I am not going to make your life easier by walking out of here so that when that little boy’s heart breaks, you don’t have to see it.  Tony was an asshole.  I get that.  He usually is.  But do you, and does _Captain America_ ,” (Darcy put a lot of sarcasm into that name) “want to punish a five year old boy for that?  Because if he does, he’s going to have to come out here and say it to our faces. We paid for our tickets, and we are not leaving.”

Darcy went back to join the line, which still contained eight children and their increasingly mutinous parents.  Phil, on the other hand, looked like he was in Heaven.  Bucky had picked him up, and they seemed to be having an intimate conversation. It involved a lot of whispering and hugging.

He actually seemed reluctant to give Phil back.

“Darcy,” Phil whispered, pressing his face against hers the way he only did when it was a Real Secret, “Bucky says he wants to come see me, can he come over and play sometime?”

Darcy put her best angry snake face back on.  “Yes.”  She said, trying to communicate _If you are fucking with my kid right now, I will fuck you up_ only through the weight and intensity of her glare.  “I hope that Bucky isn’t too busy to be held to that _promise_.”

Darcy may have said the word promise like, 2x louder than any other word.

He looked surprised, and then he grinned.

Sam was watching the exchange looking shell shocked.  “Um.  Yes.  Okay.  Well, okay.  Miss Lewis, if you want to come this way, I’m sure that the Captain would be happy to meet you and Phil next.”

Darcy smiled at him.  “Yes, I’m sure he will be.  Thank you.”

She set Phil down and held up a pocket mirror so he could check his hair.  He nodded at her seriously, and Darcy took his hand.  She gave the men another wide smile and they walked through the door, her heels clicking smartly down the hallway.

They watched her go.  “Damn, I think I’m in love.”  Sam finally said.  

Bucky smirked.

“Well, you better act fast, because I already have a date.”


	2. Playdate

When Steve walked into the living room and found Bucky struggling with a pair of cuff links, he should have been more excited.  It was the kind of thing that he’d been waiting for-- for Bucky to start living again, start trusting himself.  To take a girl (hell, to take a boy) out for the night.

But he had a feeling he knew who Bucky was taking out.

Darcy Lewis had the kind of fire he’d always liked.  It was just too bad she came with Tony Stark attached.

He still felt like he was recovering from the stare she’d given him, when she’d walked in with Phil.  The one that had said _Not a word in front of him, or I will kill you._

Steve had been less afraid while being shot at-- not that he would have said anything disparaging about Tony in front of Phil.  He knew at least _that_ much about children.

They were standing off to the side, watching Phil have the five year old equivalent of a religious experience with his shield, when he finally spoke to her.  “Ma’am, I didn’t want to say anything in front of your son--”

“Yes, I believe that your friends adequately communicated your feelings when they tried to ‘ask’ us to leave.”   Darcy kept her voice very low, her tone gentle so it wouldn’t carry across the room.  All of her attention seemed focused on Phil.  “I’ll ask you the same thing I asked them.  You really think that it’s appropriate treat a five year old boy like shit so that you can win your imaginary dick measuring contest with Tony?  Because this is not how you win.”

“It’s not a-- _that_.”  Steve said, uncomfortable using the word ‘dick’ with a lady, even one who’d said it first.  “I just don’t like bullies.”

For the first time, Darcy had really looked at him.  “If that’s what you think he is, you haven’t been paying attention.”

It had bothered Steve, in ways that were hard to admit.  He’d been wrong about Phil.  He’d expected someone very different when he thought of Tony Stark’s little brother.  Some entitled, bossy child, who was used to getting whatever he wanted.  Who would scream and kick and lay on the floor when he didn’t get his way.

Now that he’d met him, Steve couldn’t picture him doing anything like that.  It would be beneath his dignity, which was not something he expected a five year old to have.  When he’d looked the Starks up on Google afterwards, he hadn’t been surprised to see that every picture of Phil showed him well dressed and solemn.

Darcy had been a different matter, of course.  She seemed like she was always laughing, wearing bright lipstick and a smile.  Those were the only photos where Phil looked his age-- he could understand why Howard had given her custody of the child, now that he’d met him.  

He’d known Howard well enough to think the same thing that most people had thought-- that Darcy was young and attractive, and that was how she’d gotten where she was in life.  He was ashamed of it now.

Tony’s pictures were exactly what he expected them to be-- self aggrandizing publicity photos, GQ photoshoots, and paparazzi snaps of him in various states of intoxication or undress.  

But Steve had been so wrong about Phil and Darcy.  Maybe he was wrong about Tony.

It bothered him.

“Hey punk, you wanna give me a hand with this?”  Bucky said, holding out his right shirtsleeve.  The intricacies of a cufflink seemed a lot to ask of a prosthetic arm, even one as good as Bucky’s.

“Sure.  What’s got you all spiffed up?”  He asked, slipping the silver bar through the french cuff of Bucky’s shirt.

“I have a playdate.”  Bucky said, turning his collar down.  He was really doing it up-- silk tie, black slacks.  He probably had a suit jacket waiting in the wings.  This close, Steve could smell his cologne, sandalwood and patchouli.  He raised an eyebrow.

“Zizanie?  You think you’re Sinatra, Buck?”  He had no idea where you even found that sort of thing anymore.  It didn’t seem like the kind of scent men wore nowadays.

“Come on Steve, I’m way better looking than Sinatra.”  Bucky said, grinning at himself in the mirror.

“Thought you had a playdate.”  Steve said, elbowing him lightly in the ribs.  Bucky shrugged.

“Well, I don’t want to be underdressed.  Girl who puts her kid in clothes like that has expectations.”  He was giving himself another once over in the mirror, picking threads carefully from his shirt.

Steve shrugged.  “Maybe, maybe not.  I get the impression Phil puts himself in those clothes.”

Bucky laughed.  “Alright, you got me.  I’m a traitor.”

“I don’t think of Darcy as an enemy.”  Steve said, putting a warm hand on his friend’s shoulder.  “She’s a pistol, you’ve always liked that.”

Although his expression had never faltered, Steve felt that Bucky was a little relieved to have his blessing.

“Nothing wrong with a woman that’s got a little backbone.”  Bucky agreed, and slipped into the suit jacket that Steve had known he had somewhere.  He spread open his arms.  “Do I pass muster?”

“Well, you’re still not better looking than Sinatra.”  Steve said, grinning.  “But I think she’ll let you in the house.”

“If I’m lucky she won’t let me back out.”  Bucky said, and grabbed Steve’s keys off the counter.  “Thanks for lending me your bike, you’re a real pal.”

And he was out the door before Steve could put up even a token protest.

 

Darcy opened the door to find every fantasy she’d ever had as a teenager waiting on her doorstep.

 _People who are not Phil should always wear suits._  Darcy thought, taking Bucky in with the kind of stare that she usually reserved for particularly moist chocolate cake.

She and Phil had gone through their usual negotiation, in which Darcy was forced to dress up and Phil was forced to dress down, but for once she was grateful for his insistence that jeans would be ‘disrespectful’.  They didn’t wear shoes in the house, so she was barefoot, but had put on a gold silk bubble skirt and a black blouse.  

Phil had been very against her bare legs, but Bucky didn’t seem to mind.

“Phil’s in the living room.”  She said, gesturing with her head.  “I think he wants to show you like, every Captain America thing he owns.  Which, for the record, is all of the things.  Can I take your jacket?”

He raised his eyebrows, and let her slide the jacket off his shoulders.  “All of the things?”

“All of the things.”  Darcy confirmed.  “Even Captain Ameribear, which is like impossible to find if you’re not a billionaire playboy philanthropist.”

He laughed, following her into the living room.  “There’s a Captain Ameribear?”

Darcy nodded.  “Yep.  There’s a Buckybear too, but I’d have to go get it from my room to show you.”

Bucky gave her a sideways look, and then smiled slowly.  “No, don’t get it right now.  I’ll see it later.”

 _Well not with that attitude._  Darcy thought just to be contrary.  But he probably would.


	3. Reality

 

As soon as Bucky put her feet in his lap, Darcy knew how the night was ending.  Any man who could do  _that_ with his hands was definitely worth her time.

Unfortunately, that was not how the night ended, because Tony showed up to ruin everything, as was his wont.

Phil had gone to the kitchen to micromanage the chef, so Bucky and Darcy were briefly, gloriously alone.  Darcy was leaning against one arm of the loveseat with her legs tucked beside her while Bucky sat on the other side.  Her bare feet were inches from his pant leg, and she was pretending that this was not something she was acutely aware of.  And Bucky just reached over, picked up one of her feet, and started casually rubbing it.  Like that was a thing that people just  _did._

He was too perfect.  Darcy now understood that part of the Matrix where they said that humans couldn’t accept a utopia.

 _This is not reality._ She thought, dazed, as Bucky worked a knot out of the arch of her foot with the perfect amount of pressure.  Men did not show up for dates on sexy motorcycles, wearing cufflinks, and give you foot rubs.  It was almost a relief when Tony walked into the living room.

He was wearing the strangest combination of clothing, as if it had been scavenged from several different people-- a pair of grey sweat pants, a PhiBetaCapa sweatshirt, and two different socks-- and seemed to have begun the conversation without her.

“--Captain America’s motorcycle…”  Tony stopped dead, staring at them.  He pointed a scandalized finger.  “ _You.”_

 _Oh, yes, this is more like it._ Darcy thought.   _This is my life._   She couldn’t even feel annoyed that he hadn’t rung the bell.  Before it was Phil and Darcy’s house it had been Howard’s house, and since Howard was so rarely home Tony had never gotten into the habit.

“How… how could you  _do_ this to me, Darcy.   _I thought we had something_.”  Tony hissed.

“Ah yes, the special relationship between a man and his father’s former paid subordinate.  How could I violate the sanctity.”  Darcy deadpanned.

He winced.  “I am realizing how many of my relationships you just described.”  Tony said, looking distracted.  “But!  Yes, how could you.  Do you know who this is?”

“My future husband.”  Darcy said with complete sincerity.  

“I-- No.  No, you are not allowed to do that to me.  To Phil.  I mean, is that the kind of mother you want to be, Darcy, bringing around strange former--”

“ _Tony._ ”  Darcy interrupted, feeling Bucky stiffen beside her.

“--military personnel.”  Tony finished, giving Darcy a look that said  _Do you think I’m that stupid._

Then he proceeded to dig his own grave.  “Kids get attached, and then when you’re not together anymore-- I mean, think of the children.  Or, the child.  Think of the Phil.”

“Well, that won’t be an issue.  As I’m marrying him.”  Darcy told him seriously.  She could tell that she was starting to get to him.  For someone who liked to joke as much as he did, Tony was surprisingly credulous.

“You-- tell me you’re joking.  Why can I never tell if you’re joking?”  Tony demanded, running a hand through his hair and leaving a long smear of motor oil on his arm.

“Because people with ADHD have difficulty interpreting social cues?”  Darcy answered.

“Stop answering my rhetorical questions with the actual answer Lewis, this is not a time for personal growth, this is a time for panic.  If you start dating--this-- then the next thing I know, he’ll have all his seedy superhero friends over here.”

Darcy raised an eyebrow at him.  “Is this really the hill you wanna die on?  Because I don’t think it is.”

Tony came up short, and looked at her.  Trying to determine if she  _knows._

 _Oh, I know._ “Is it.”  Darcy said, and stared him down.

Tony muttered something about Phil and left the room abruptly.

“You’re... kind of terrifying.”  Bucky commented, and went back to rubbing her feet.

 _I am totally marrying him._ Darcy decided.


	4. Board meeting

 

Darcy woke to little hands patting her cheeks, Phil’s mouth close to her ear.  “Darcy.”  Phil whispered.  “Darcy, it’s time to wake up.”

“Phiiiiiil, it’s _Saturday_.”  Darcy whined, grabbing a free pillow and pulling it over her face to protect it.

“I know.  It’s already 6:30, you _have_ to get up now.  Or we’ll miss the special board meeting.”  She allowed one eye to open, and saw that yes, he was already in a suit.

“ ‘M not on the board.  I don’t have to go.”  Darcy said, but she was stretching herself awake, making little complaining noises.

“We’re the face of the company.  It’s important for us to seem involved, even if we’re only making symbolic contributions.”  Phil said, obviously repeating something he’d been told.

“If there was a petition I could sign to retroactively stop Howard Stark, I would sign it.  I would John Hancock that shit.”  Darcy muttered, putting her feet on the floor.  It was warm, because the master suite in every Stark house had some kind of crazy floor heating system.   _That_ was part of the Howard legacy that she definitely didn’t mind.

Seeing that she was up, Phil had moved on to her closet, where he was eyeing a pencil skirt with his hands on his hips.  “So.  What are you wearing?”

“Pants?”  She tried, and he gave her a long-suffering stare.  “What, people wear pants.  Pepper!  I’ve seen her wear pants.”

“You’d have to wear higher heels.”  Phil said, looking doubtfully at her shoes, which skewed heavily toward ‘comfortable’.

“Ugh, fine, you pick it.  I secede you full creative outfit control.”  Darcy said, wincing as she drug a brush through her hair.

 

In retrospect, she should have never trusted anyone who had opinions on the correct width of a tie pin to pick out her clothes.

“They’re not straight.”  He said, looking at the back seams of her stockings with a critical eye in the backseat of the town car.  

“Phil.  Are we dressed to match right now?”  Darcy asked, looking from the little handkerchief in his pocket to her blue dress.  It took her longer to put it together than it should have.  White stockings, blue dress, red shoes.

“Are we dressed to match in _Captain America_ colors?”  She demanded.  Phil pretended to be occupied with the windsor knot in his tie, his cheeks going pink.  She leaned over and kissed his face.

“You are so adorably weird.”  She told him, and left the lipstick mark on his cheek just to be contrary.  “We’re going to look like a really codependent prom couple.”

Just to seal the deal, Darcy made him walk into the building hand in hand with her.  Pepper and Tony were waiting in the lobby, Pepper looking fresh in a white skirt and pink blouse.  Tony looked inches from death.

When he saw them, he groaned.  

“Are you doing this just to torment me?”  He said, looking at Darcy’s outfit with a mournful expression.  “How did you even _know_?  Why are you even here, you’re not on the board.”

“We’re the face of the company.  It’s important for us to seem involved, even if we’re only making symbolic contributions.”  Darcy said primly, and Tony looked horrified.  Darcy left a space between herself and Pepper so that Phil could sit between them.  (Phil had a bit of a crush on Pepper, which was completely understandable.   _Darcy_ had a crush on Pepper.)

One of the major reasons for this was being placed in her hands right how.  “Ohmygod yes.  I love you.”  Darcy said, taking a long pull from the quad shot latte that Pepper had brought.  Tony was attacking his drink with noises that came dangerously close to being pornographic.  “I love you, I want to marry you.”

Pepper gave Phil his usual steamer.  “Well, while I’m open to it, Tony tells me that you had a date the other night.  I wouldn’t want to be a homewrecker.”

“ _I_ didn’t have a date.  Phil had a playdate.”  Darcy corrected, glaring at Tony.  Because she could have had a date.  With a man in a suit who gave foot rubs.

“Oh just ask your Russian boyfriend out at the meeting.”  Tony muttered, pouring more coffee into his mouth.  “Or ask Rogers, you look enough like the flag right now, I’m sure he’d be willing to--”

“ _Tony_.”  Pepper said, glancing at Phil.

Tony turned to apologize, then caught sight of something behind them that washed all the color from his face.

Darcy turned.  “Oh.  Hey Steve.”  She said, taking a moment to appreciate Captain America in a suit.  

“Fiance.”  She said, giving Bucky a nod of acknowledgement.  He grinned.  "What're you guys doing here?"

"We're here about funding for the Avenger's Initiative."  Steve said, looking at Tony like he was trying to stare a hole through him. 


	5. Sunday Spa Day

Tony sulks about the board meeting so hard that he almost ruins Sunday Spa Day for everyone.

“--undermines my bargaining position when you and Phil are making moon eyes at them.”  Tony complained from his position beside her in the mud bath.  Darcy had never been a fan of the whole mud thing, even before it meant being naked and trapped with Tony while he was in a mood-- but Phil likes it.  He even shows the occasional sign of childlike whimsy, smacking his hand against the surface of the mud and splashing little dots of it on his face.  

If anyone else looked at this situation, Darcy didn’t doubt there would be some raised eyebrows, but at this point taking a bath with Tony was as sexual as taking one with Phil.  They were way too related for it be salacious-- not that you could see anything through the mud anyway.

“Tony,  _what_ bargaining position?”  Pepper said, exasperated.  She was sitting in a bathrobe with just her feet in the bath, drinking green tea. “The meeting was to convince the board to sign off on the funding.  We were all on the same side!  You wanted to give them money, and they wanted to take it.  I thought that the outfits were a brilliant way to show support.”

“If you like Rogers so much, why don’t you marry him.”  Tony muttered petulantly.

“You should, we can have a double wedding with Bucky then.”  Darcy agreed, glad she can’t see Tony's expression through the cucumbers on her eyes.  If only they could block out the sound of his whining, Darcy might be having a good day.  He couldn't let go of this 'I hate Captain America' thing, even though Darcy thought that she'd seen Steve try to make friends a few times on Saturday.  He was almost as obsessed with the guy as Phil was, in a backwards kind of way. 

“...I hate you.”  He informed her.  “You are literally the worst person I know.”

“Don’t you know Justin Hammer?”  Darcy asked skeptically.

“...This is a good point.”  Tony admitted, and maybe the warmth of the bath is starting to get to him to relax a little, because he shut up.

Phil reached over to pick the slices off of her eyes with his dirty hands.  “ _Darcy,_ ”  He stage-whispered, eyes wide.  “You’re marrying Bucky?”

 _Crap._ “Ah… Not right now.”  She hedged.  Pepper looked over, not sure if she should be amused or concerned.

Phil nodded, frowning in concentration.  “Yeah, you don’t wanna move too fast.”  He agreed.  “When you get married, is he gonna live with us?”

 _Well, might as well keep digging._ “Well, where else would he live?”  She said.

Phil shrugged.  “I don’t know.  He lives with Captain America at his house right now.  Er, not his house, his apartment.”

A thought seemed to strike him.  His opened his mouth a few times before he was able to really articulate it.  “ _Would Captain America come live with us too?_ ”  

Tony choked.

“I don’t know if he’d want to.”  Darcy said honestly.  “But if he wanted to, he could.”

“That’s it, I don’t want to live in this world anymore.”  Tony said, and started to let his head sink down into the mud.

No one stopped him.


	6. Interior Decorating

Phil starts trying to decorate rooms for Steve and Bucky almost immediately.

Darcy starts to suspect something when she sees Phil sitting on his bedroom floor, staring at Pinterest with an expression of intense concern.  It’s not like it’s the first time that she’s seen Phil looking at Pinterest-- he has way too much interest in fashion not to love the website-- but it’s the first time she’s seen him look so  _worried_  about it.

“Hey kiddo, what’re you doing?”  Darcy asked, squatting down to look at the tablet screen Phil was tapping.  It looked like the interior design tag.

“I’m making rooms.”  He said, his eyes darting between two couches with the level of concentration needed to defuse a bomb.

“Okay.”  Darcy said, watching him sort through fireplaces and shelves.  “What kind of rooms?”

“The ones for Bucky and Captain America.”  Phil said, selecting a compact weight bench that could be folded up into the wall.

“...Um.”  Darcy bit her lip, not sure how to break it to him.  “Buddy, you know that might not happen?  Or might not happen for a long time?”

“I know  _that_.”  Phil said, impatiently.  “But if we just tell them that they can stay here, they won’t know if we mean it or not.  We have to show them.”

Darcy sat down.  Phil had made two separate boards, with a level of detail that was actually a little astonishing.  Bucky’s room seemed to have a lot of hidden storage options-- shelves that pulled down into tables, hope chests that could expand into chairs.  All the colors were warm and comfortable, the woods stained reddish brown, the carpets plush.  It was the kind of room Darcy could imagine wanting to stay in forever.

Steve’s room was both more utilitarian and more artistic, with a drafting board and framed art on the wall.  It seemed like a refuge, but a temporary one-- designed for a man who would always be on the go.  It had places to hang things, a stocked refrigerator, and a very cozy looking bed.

“What do you think?”  Phil asked, watching her face for her reaction.

“I think they’re perfect.”  Darcy admitted, and Phil grinned.  He settled more firmly onto his stomach, kicking his legs a little as he sorted through cabinet knob options.

Darcy watched him work, so serious and happy, and made a decision.

“So.  My credit card, or yours?”


	7. A Room

Bucky picked Darcy up at her house to go dancing that Friday night.

It’s not technically a house, more like a mansion-- the kind of place that has servant’s quarters and dumb waiters-- but Bucky can’t think of it as a mansion without feeling a little uncomfortable.  He’s dated rich girls before, the kind that saw him as someone a little bit dangerous.  Someone to annoy their fathers and make them seem more interesting to their girlfriends.  Darcy doesn’t seem like that kind of girl, even  _with_  Tony’s disapproval.  So he doesn’t like to think of where she and Phil live as a mansion, but that’s what it is.

He parked Steve’s bike behind a red Audi and was walking up the gravel drive when the front door opened and Phil waved him in.  He was wearing when Bucky was starting to recognize as a very heavily negotiated outfit-- khakis and an actual T-shirt.  He imagined what Darcy might have agreed to wear, and thanked god for Phil.

“Darcy said to tell her when you got here, but I want to show you something first.”  Phil said, almost whispering even though Darcy didn’t seem to be anywhere within earshot.  He grabbed Bucky’s hand and started to pull him towards the stairs.  “She’s in her room so we have to be quiet.”

Halfway to the second floor, Bucky started to hear music.  There was a door ajar near the landing, and he thought he heard Darcy singing along with what might be showtunes-- something about going out tonight.  Phil put his finger to his lips, eyes wide, and they crept past the room.

Bucky couldn’t help it, he looked.  Darcy was sitting at a vanity, painting a red gloss onto her lips with a look of concentration, her hair pulled up off her neck and secured with a silver clip.  The rest of her outfit didn’t look  _real._ It was like her entire dress was made out of pearls.  

Done with her lips, Darcy picked up the chorus of the song.  The words followed them into the other room until Phil shut the door with a quiet snap.

It wasn’t until the door cut off Darcy’s voice that Bucky noticed the room.  The walls had been painted a grey that he could almost call ‘warm’, but maybe that was just the influence of the furniture.  All the wood was stained a rich burgundy and topped with velvet cushions.  He could tell just by looking that if he touched them, they would be incredibly soft.  There was a fireplace, a flat screen TV on the wall, shelves of beautiful leather bound books…  And that was the first thing that tipped Bucky off.

Half of the books were in Russian.

There was a hope chest at the foot of the bed with the initials J.B.B. inlaid discreetly in brass.  A weighted leather strap on the bedside table to hold things down, a cardholder, a dozen other things he’d need if he wasn’t using his prosthetic.  This was a room for a one-armed man who spoke Russian.

This was a room for  _him_.

“Do you like it?”  Phil asked, watching him take the room in with an anxious expression, fidgeting a little.  “Darcy didn’t want you to see it until we finish Captain America’s, but…”  He trailed off, trying to decipher Bucky’s reaction.  “We can do it different!  If you don’t like it, I mean, it can be however you want.”

Bucky cleared his throat.  “No, it’s great.  Really good buddy, I like it.  Don’t change a thing.”

He squeezed Phil’s shoulder, trying to shake off the way he felt like crying.  “Let’s get downstairs before your mom catches us.”

Phil’s forehead wrinkled.  “She’s not my mom.”  His voice was a little choked, like he was forcing the words out.

Bucky raised his eyebrows.  “No?  She seems to think you’re her kid.”  He tried to sound casual about it, to not think about what it would have meant to  _him_  to have someone decide that he was theirs when he was a kid.  Phil was rich, he wouldn’t have ever had to go hungry, but just having food in your stomach wasn’t enough.  You needed to be  _wanted._

“My mom’s name was Julie.”  Phil pointed out, still struggling with the concept, but Bucky could tell that he liked the idea.

He shrugged, picking Phil up so they could sneak back downstairs more easily.  “So, you can’t have more than one mom?”

Phil still looked a little resistant, but he smiled.

“...Yeah, maybe.”  He agreed, almost shyly, and hid his face in Bucky’s shoulder for the entire walk downstairs.


	8. The Dress

Darcy hadn’t really thought about how she was going to ride a motorcycle in this dress.

“You have to take the Audi.”  Phil said, like it was obvious, sitting on the living room floor with Tony and a pile of legos.  Tony was very focused on properly reinforcing their castle wall.

“I don’t want to take the-- Why can’t we both just change?”  She asked.  “You can wear whatever you want if I can wear pants.”

“No.”  Phil told her firmly, handing Tony more white bricks.  “We made a deal.  We shook on it, Darcy, that’s binding.”

“Oh my god, you’re going to grow up to become a lawyer.  Aren’t you.  You’re going to go to law school.”  Darcy accused.  Phil shrugged, as if he’d considered it but wasn’t willing to commit yet.

“Lawyer?”  Tony said in alarm, finally looking up.  He winced when he caught sight of Darcy.  “What’s wrong with a nice science degree?”  He asked, turning his face towards Phil with his eyes closed.

“Tony, are you just never going to look at me again?”  Darcy asked, annoyed.

“Not while you’re wearing that or anything like that, no.”  Tony said, feeling around with his hands to carefully place a white horse on the drawbridge.

“See, Tony thinks I should change.”  Darcy wheedled, trying not to acknowledge how low she had sunk if she was using Tony as her source of moral authority.

“Tony didn’t say that,”  He muttered under his breath, and then cleared his throat.  “Ahem.  Tony’s official position is that while Darcy looks lovely, there are some things that Tony does not need to see, because they will have  _very_ disturbing psychological consequences.”

“My dress is emotionally traumatizing you?”  Darcy asked, raising her eyebrows, and Tony nodded in her general direction with his eyes closed.

Bucky was leaning in the doorway observing these negotiations with remarkable patience, his hands in his pockets.  Darcy noticed he was wearing the same onyx cuff links as the last time she’d seen him in a suit, and wondered if he would smell the same.  Sweet, like sandalwood.

“Phil, please?”  Darcy asked, finally going for his soft spot.  He was a sucker for anyone who asked for help.  She saw him waver, but then he stuck his chin out stubbornly.

“No.  You have to wear it, Darcy, we  _shook on it._ ”  He insisted, and Darcy threw up her hands.

“Fine.  Bucky, can you drive stick--”  She started, and then realized what she was saying.  “That is a stupid question.”  Darcy observed, and tossed him the car keys.  He caught them automatically.

They were both quiet on the walk to the car, Darcy’s shoes on the gravel drive unexpectedly loud.  Buck opened her door for her, leaving Darcy with a few moments alone inside her car to freak out about going out looking like this.  It wasn’t that it wasn’t a good dress; it was that it was  _too_ good.

Starting the car, Bucky raised his eyebrows at her.  “You okay?  Looking a little… I don’t know.”  He shrugged.

“Yeah,”  Darcy said, smiling at him.  “I just don’t usually dress like this, so.”

“Ah,”  Bucky said, shifting into gear smoothly.  “Well, you’re a knockout.  Everyone’s going to be blown away.”

“That’s kind of the problem.”  Darcy admitted, watching the streetlights pass by her window.  She’d always loved the city at night.

“What do you mean?”  Bucky asked.  He was driving a little fast, but he was so aware of the other cars that it didn’t make Darcy nervous-- he seemed completely in control.

“I don’t know.  Sometimes people bug me, if I’m dressed too nice.”

In the red glow of a traffic light, Darcy saw Bucky’s face tighten a little.  “Well,”  He said, a little too cheerfully,  “That’s because you’ve never been out with me.”

At the venue, Bucky managed to parallel park in a space no one else had been able to fit into, so the car was almost at the front entrance.  Darcy turned to look at him to gauge what she was supposed to do next, get out or wait in the car.  Her face was backlit by the neon signs in the window of the building outside.

Bucky stared at her like he was memorizing her.  Then he leaned over and kissed Darcy’s neck, softly, and pulled back to check her reaction.  Whatever he saw must have been enough.

He kissed her on the mouth, and Darcy was afraid that anything she did was going to ruin their clothes.  It was the thing she hated most about formal clothes, the  _distance_  it put between people.  She couldn’t grab the front of his shirt without wrinkling him, and she found herself clasping her hands together hard in her lap.

Bucky seemed to be an expert at this sort of thing though, gosting his fingers down her bare arm to bring her hand up to his face.  When he drew back he even touched up her lip gloss with his thumb, then ducked his head.

“Gotta stop looking at me like that doll, or we’re not gonna get out of the car.”  He muttered, and popped his door open before she could react, walking around to open her door for her.

Darcy was pretty sure that was the moment she fell in love with him for real.


	9. Getting Serious

Steve finds Bucky sitting in the kitchen at four am, staring out the window like there’s something to see other than a street without cars.

“Hey Buck, you doing okay?”  Steve asked, wondering if something happened on his date.  He’d left the apartment in one of the best moods that Steve had seen him in, cocksure and a little nervous.  Now, with his tie loose, in his wrinkled suit, it was hard to say what he was.  But when he looked over at Steve, he smiled.

“Yeah, I’m good.  Better than good, punk.  Glad you’re here, actually, you can talk me out of acting like a complete moron.”  He was toying with his cufflinks absently, like he wasn’t sure if he should be getting undressed yet.

“Probably too late for that.  What do you need talking out of?”  Steve said, casually reaching over to undo Bucky’s cufflinks.  As soon as they were on the table he was shrugging out of his jacket, pulling his tie off like was suffocating him.

“Tell me not to go back there and throw rocks at her window or some other idiocy.”  He said, rolling up his loose shirt sleeves.  Steve raised his eyebrows.

“So, good first date then?”  He asked, because even if Bucky had gotten dressed up for it, he didn’t consider playing with Phil to be a real first date.

The side of Bucky’s mouth quirked up.  “So, you know that whole joke about the two of us getting married?”

Steve grinned, remembering the horrified look on Tony’s face after the board meeting when Darcy had asked him to babysit so that she and her ‘fiance’ could go dancing.  “Yeah.”

“Kinda getting serious about that.”  Bucky admitted, giving Steve a sideways glance to gauge his reaction.

“...You’ve been on one date?”  Steve said, not sure how to respond, because Bucky was  _good_ at dating.  He could take out a different girl every day of the week and keep them all happy-- he could even care about all of them while he was doing it.  He’d treat them all well, but he didn’t get serious.

Bucky shrugged, holding one of his cufflinks so he could practice moving the little metal bar with his metal arm.  “What can I say, Stevie?  I think I’ve been ruined for other women.”

“Geez, Buck.”  Steve said, running a hand through his hair uncomfortably.  “I-- Does she feel the same way?  Because she seems like a fun girl, Buck.  I think she was just kidding around with Tony.”

Bucky looked down at the table, his expression as intense as when Steve found him staring out the window.  “No,”  He said softly,  “I think she wants me too.”

“Wow.  Well, congratulations?”  Steve said, and smiled.  Trying to feel happy, instead of like he’d just lost his best friend again.

“Thanks, pal.”  Bucky said, standing up to give Steve a slap on the shoulder.  “Think I’m gonna go to bed.”

“Okay,”  Steve agreed, as if he couldn’t tell when Bucky was lying.

When he finds his bed empty in the morning, he’s not really surprised.


	10. Breakfast

Darcy woke up with Phil’s face an inch away from hers.

“ _Darcy.”_   He whispered, not for the first time, although Darcy didn’t know  _why_ he was doing this.  Saturday mornings were supposed to be sacred.

“Phiiiiiiiil,”  Darcy complained, and he covered her mouth with his hands.

“ _Darcy_ ,”  He whispered, shocked.  “Don’t be loud, you’re going to wake up  _Bucky._ ”

Darcy looked next to her in the bed, where Bucky was sleeping shirtless, the covers pulled up to his shoulders.

“...Yes.  That is a good point, Phil.”  She whispered, trying not to panic, but Phil seemed to be taking it as a matter of course, so maybe he wouldn’t be scared for life.

“Why didn’t he sleep in his room?”  Phil asked, and then a thought seemed to strike him.  “ _Did he have a bad dream?_ ”

“How could he sleep in his room, we haven’t shown it to him yet.”  Darcy said, and Phil immediately did his liar’s tell-- he rubbed his right ring finger.  She had no idea why that was his thing, but he always did it.

“Um.  Yeah.”  Phil agreed.  “I’ll tell Cook to make extra breakfast.”

“Okay, thanks buddy.”  Darcy said, wincing internally.  As soon as he bounded out of the room, Bucky opened his eyes.

“So.  I’m staying for breakfast.”  He observed casually.

“Yes.  You are.”  Darcy said, and covered her face with her hands.

“Darcy,”  Bucky said, reaching over to touch her arm,  “I’m sorry.  Am I overstepping?  I can go.”

“Oh god, no, it’s not that,”  Darcy said, dropping her hands, “It’s just,  Tony’s here.  Like, Tony will be eating breakfast with us.”

Bucky looked a little impressed at the thought.  “Ah.  I see.  This is going to be… uncomfortable.”

Darcy rolled over so she could snuggle against his chest.  “Probably.   _This_ , however, is extremely comfortable.  You are a very physically warm person.”

Bucky looked at her strangely for moment, at how she had just pressed her face right into the spiderweb of scars around his shoulder without blinking.

He kissed her forehead.  “Well, had to bite that bullet sometime.”

“Maybe we should tell him about Steve’s room while we’re at it.”  Darcy muttered,  “Although he might actually have an aneurysm, I’m not really sure how those work.”

“Let’s just never bring it up.”  Bucky suggested,  “And let him wonder why the hell Steve is always over here.”

“That’s called ‘gaslighting’, Bucky.”  She informed him.  “And it would be wrong.  Incredibly hilarious, but wrong.”

“Hmm.  How do you feel about getting secret-married?  Because that would be almost as good.”  Bucky suggested.  

Darcy groaned.  “Oh my god, Phil is going to be a  _nightmare_.  I hope you’ve always wanted to wear like, a french cravate or something, because that’s the kind of thing that’s going to happen.”

“I’ve worn worse things.”  Bucky said, remembering the design of one of his old uniforms.

“So, we have about half an hour before Phil will come bug us again.”  Darcy told him, yawning.  “He’s like the world’s most adorable snooze button.  Which means we can try for another half hour of sleep, or we can take a shower.”

“You're leaving out the most relevant part of the question, doll: does the bathroom door lock?”  He pointed out, and Darcy grinned.

“Yes.  Yes it does.”


	11. On Order

Darcy tried to walk into the dining room with Bucky as casually as possible.  They were both wearing different clothes than yesterday-- it was entirely possible that Bucky had just stopped by early for breakfast.  That was a thing people did, in theory.

Phil jumped down from his chair as soon as he saw them.  “Bucky, this is your place.”  He said seriously, pointing to a the spot next to where Darcy usually sat.  It was set with the nice bone china.

Across the table, Tony dropped his napkin.  

“You  _didn’t._ ”  He said, looking stunned.  “It-- it was  _one date_.  You--”  He looked over at Phil, who had gone from excited to worried.

Phil hesitated.  “Tony, are you mad?”

“No, I’m just-- surprised, I didn’t know Bucky was having breakfast with us buddy.”  Tony said, trying to smile reassuringly and failing.  It looked more like he was developing a facial tick.

“Oh,”  Phil said, not looking very convinced, and he sat back down looking visibly subdued.  Tony winced.

Darcy sat down and looked at their place settings.  “Wow, we’re using the nice stuff today, I feel very regal.”

Phil gave her outfit a skeptical look.  “Darcy, you’re wearing yoga pants.  To  _breakfast_.”

“But Phiiiiiiiiil, it’s Saturday, I don’t want to get dressed on Saturday.”  Darcy complained.

“...I’ll let you wear pants.”  Phil allowed, “But they have to be real pants.”

Darcy sighed.  “Okay, go get ‘em.  Can I keep the shirt?”  She said, spreading her arms to show him the loose pima cotton sweater she had on.  He examined it.

“I can make that work.”  He agreed, and set his napkin on the table before he left the room.

“That was for you.”  Darcy informed Tony, “So hurry up and say whatever before he comes back.”

“I--Okay.  You slept here last night.”  Tony said, addressing Bucky.  Darcy took his hand underneath the table.

“Yes.”  Bucky said, bringing Darcy’s hand to his mouth and kissing it.  She blushed.

“Hmm,”  Tony said, watching the proceedings with a wary look on his face.  “So what are your intentions towards my…”  Tony frowned, not sure what exactly he should call Darcy.

“I thought you already knew.”  Bucky said, a little mischief creeping into his smile.  “She’s my fiance.”

Darcy gave him a sideways glance, but didn’t argue.

“Uh-huh.”  Tony said, not impressed.  “Where’s the ring?”

“On order.”  Bucky answered promptly, and Tony snorted.  “Right, and the check’s in the mail.”

Bucky shrugged.  “We’ll see.”

Darcy turned and really looked at Bucky’s face.  “Wait.  You’re being serious?”

“Well, I haven’t actually had time to order anything yet--”  Bucky began, and Darcy kissed him.

“ _Ew_.”  Tony burst out, hastily covering his eyes.


	12. Engagement

Bucky got home around dusk, wearing an entirely different set of clothing and what looked like a wedding ring on his right hand.

Steve, leaning against the kitchen counter drinking his dinner straight from the blender, started.

“Hey Steve,”  Bucky said casually, opening the fridge.  “Is that all you’re having?  I can cook something.”

“Bucky,”  Steve said, trying to keep his tone of voice neutral.  “Did you get married today?”

The fact that he even had to ask that was disturbing.  Bucky looked down at his hand, grinned, and slapped Steve on the shoulder.

“Nah, engagement ring pal.”  He answered, twisting it off to show the engraving on inside.  “They can put fingerprints in ‘em now, go figure.”

“You gave her your  _fingerprints_?”  Steve said.  They had gone through hell to wipe Bucky from HYDRA’s databases, and he had just let some girl engrave his fingerprints on jewelry.

“I gave her _a_ fingerprint, yeah.”  Bucky asked, raising an eyebrow, and Steve took the hint to back off.

“Ah, I didn’t know men got engagement rings.”  He said, handing back the ring, and Bucky shrugged.

“Don’t think it’s real common, but Phil seemed to like the idea.  And Tony found it horrifying.”  He added, as if making Tony Stark uncomfortable was just as important as Phil’s approval.  “He just kept saying ‘But you’ve had  _one_ date!’, the two of you should hang out sometime.”

He started pulling the ingredients for pasta primavera out of the fridge.

Steve winced, putting a saucepan on the stove for Bucky to make the alfredo in.  “I don’t know how we can avoid it now, but… I get the impression he's not a fan of me.”

“Hmm.  I don’t know, he’s a little too aware of you.  And he did give us billions of dollars, even if he looked like it caused him physical pain.”  Bucky pointed out, and then grinned.  “God, those Captain America outfits.”

Steve smiled reluctantly.  “I thought that was sweet.”  He admitted, remembering Phil with Darcy’s lipstick print still on his cheek.

“Kid worships you.  You should see his bedroom.”  Bucky commented, chopping the vegetables while Steve put water on to boil for the noodles.  “Actually, you should see  _your_ bedroom, if it’s anything like mine.”

Steve looked up from the box of fettuccine he was examining.  (Not that he didn’t know how to make noodles, he just always liked to read the instructions.)  “What do you mean?”

“They made us bedrooms.”  Bucky said, walking over to the stove to check the consistency of the cream and butter he’d left simmering in its pan.  “They’re pretty unbelievable.  Mine had all these books in Russian, and this crazy expandable furniture… I don’t know.  Guess it’s hard to describe, it was just perfect.  They put a lot of thought into them.”

“But… why would they do that?”  Steve asked, completely nonplused.  Bucky looked down at the silver band on his finger.

“Guess to show that they’re serious when they offer to let us stay with them.”  He said, and kissed his ring.  “They know we’re a package deal.”

“I’m… not sure what to say to that.”  Steve admitted.  “I don’t know if I’d be comfortable living off of your… fiance… that way.”

“I know what you mean, but I don’t think they think about things that way.  I… wouldn’t mind it.”  He said, giving Steve a lopsided smile.  “It’s cheesy, but, they  _want_ me.  And you.  Phil just lost his dad, and Darcy’s kind of alone taking care of him-- I don’t think it’d be a one-sided deal.”

Steve had to admit that Phil seemed desperate for a male presence in his life-- not that Tony wasn’t one.  From what he had seen of their interactions at the board meeting, there was a lot of mutual affection, but it was very brotherly.

And sometimes he worried about Bucky being alone in the apartment when he had to go on long missions.  Not that he needed babysitting, but everyone had hard nights.

“Okay,”  Steve agreed,  “If that’s something they offer, I’ll give it some serious consideration.”

“Excellent.  Somewhere across town, Tony is waking up in a cold sweat, and he doesn’t know why.”  Bucky said, pulling a noodle out of the boiling water with his prosthetic arm to check the texture.

Steve laughed, but he had the sinking feeling that Bucky might be right.

_Why doesn't he like me?_


	13. Wedding Shower

It shouldn’t have surprised Tony that Phil wanted to throw the gender-neutral equivalent of a bridal shower, considering he was basically the world’s tiniest wedding planner.  He just wasn’t prepared for the  _magnitude._

There were a lot of guests, but they knew a lot of people, and it was a big house-- that wasn’t so unusual.  And sure, everyone needed a few ice sculptures that were photorealistic copies of the bride and groom to be.  But Tony thought that the exotic butterflies were a bit much.

“Is that a harp.”  He said, staring at the woman in the corner.  Her dress looked like something one would wear while cosplaying as Helen of Troy.  There was a man in a suit nearby with what Tony hoped to god wasn’t a lute, but it probably was.

Steve looked, if anything, more shell shocked.  “Is this… I mean, is this what people do?”  He asked, looking to Pepper for confirmation.  Everyone was dressed formally, and Tony tried to focus on how elegant Pepper looked in her cream gown.   _He doesn’t like you_ , Tony reminded himself,  _and ogling the man will not help with that._

“This is not what people do.”  Pepper said, smiling as she watched Darcy laughing while one of the kittens Phil had rented for the occasion licked her face.  “But it’s what they should do.”

“It’s very…”  Steve trailed off, his eyes following a server with a tray of desserts topped with lit sparklers.

Across the room, Phil gestured to Pepper, obviously deep in consultation with one of the kitchen staff.  “Excuse me.”  She said, and left Tony alone with Steve.

Well, as alone as you could be in a room full of people you knew.  Still, Tony felt his palms start to sweat.

“So.  One date.” He observed casually.  Steve’s face was briefly pained before going blank. “Ha!  I knew you thought it was insane too!”  Tony crowed, pointing.

“I’m very happy that Bucky has found someone he feels he can connect with.”  Steve said, a distinct flavor of annoyance seeping into his voice.  Tony couldn’t help it, he had to push it.

“No you’re not.”  He said, shoving his hands in his pockets.  “ _I’m_  not happy.”

Tony glanced over at Darcy, saying something to Bucky and gesturing, a mischievous glint in her eye.  “ _They’re_  happy.  Good for them.  But I’m not happy about it.”

Steve followed Tony’s gaze, and he could see the conflict on his face before he admitted it.  “It does feel… fast.”

“Fucking warp speed.”  Tony muttered, grabbing a glass of champagne off of a passing tray.

“...He thinks we should move in.”  Steve confessed, and Tony choked on his drink so loudly that people looked over at them.

“Are you going to?”  Tony asked as soon as he’d recovered, mopping at the wet spot on the front of his shirt with a handkerchief while Steve watched.

“Ah-- haven’t decided yet.”  He hedged, looking a bit worried.  “Would it be a problem for you, if we…?”

“No!  I mean,”  He backtracked, feeling like he had sounded too excited, “It’s not even my house, it’s Darcy and Phil’s, anyway, no, of course not, no problem here.”

Steve gave him a sideways glance.  “...Okay Tony.”  He said, and Tony felt a jolt in his stomach just hearing him say his _name_.

A butterfly landed on Steve’s hair and got stuck, and Tony found himself staring at his hands as he freed it, very gentle despite their size.

_You are a pervert, Anthony Edward Stark,_ he chastised himself sternly, downing the rest of his champagne.


	14. Kids

Steve was laying on his bed when Bucky found him, admiring the mural of the night sky painted on the ceiling.  

“Okay, this room is perfect.”  He admitted, sitting up.  Bucky tried not to look smug.

There didn’t seem to be anything that Darcy and Phil hadn’t thought of-- Steve had art supplies and workout equipment, a well concealed refrigerator… even a stash of shoelaces, although he had no idea how either of them had figured  _that_ out.  He didn’t usually discount his strength, but when he was distracted sometimes Steve pulled too hard tying his laces and snapped them in half.

It happened more often than he liked to admit.

“So,”  Bucky said, sitting on the edge of Steve’s far too comfortable mattress, “When are we moving in?”

“I guess we can give notice anytime.”  Steve said, feeling strangely reluctant to give up their apartment.  It apartment isn’t that nice, and the location could be better, but… Well.  It was  _theirs._ It was the place that Steve got to finally welcome Bucky back to the world again.

Part of the world he’d wanted to see Bucky in had included this, or something like it.  A wife and kids.  He just hadn’t expected it to be so soon.

Well, a fiance and kid, but… “So, any plans for Phil to get a little sister?  Or brother?”  Steve asked, and Bucky blinked.

“...Um.  Hadn’t thought about it.”  He admitted, forehead wrinkling.  “Why, did Darcy say something?”

“No, I was just thinking it was strange, you having a wife and kids.  I mean, with Phil and all.”  Steve explained, still probing how he felt about the idea.

Bucky looked like he was doing the same.  “I don’t think that’s in the cards.  I mean, not for a while.  I’m sure, eventually…”

The subject had obviously never come up between them, which simultaneously appalled and reassured Steve.

Darcy popped her head into the room and raised her eyebrows at Steve.

“It’s amazing.”  He told her sincerely, and when she smiled it was impossible not to understand what Bucky saw in her.

“Okay, great, now come tell Phil that, because he’s in the other room  _loosing his mind._ ”  Darcy told him, making a her eyes wide to emphasize his level of distress.

“Hey Darcy, when are we having kids?”  Bucky said, and Steve wanted to bury his face in his hands for starting this.  Next year he’d be changing diapers, and he’d have no one to blame but himself.

“Define ‘are’.  Like, are we currently having kids?  Because I already have kid, singular, and I would like to fit in some non-kid activities  _before_  doing all the weird shit I want to do becomes embarrassing.”  Darcy actually made little air quotes around the word ‘are’.  “Seven year plan, maybe?  I don’t know.”

Bucky nodded, considering this.  “I like kids.  We should have a lot of them.”

“See, again, I’m sticking on the ‘have’.”  Darcy said, coming more fully into the room for what was apparently going to be a longer conversation than she’d bargained for.  “Because I’m not that excited about the whole birth aspect of that.”

“Adoption?”  Bucky said, a little surprised, but he seemed to warm to the thought immediately.  “Yeah.  There are a lot of kids already, who don’t have anyone… Could we have like, one kid though?  I mean, the regular way.”

Steve was forcibly reminded of trying to negotiate with his mother for a piece of candy at the store as a child.  Darcy looked amused enough for him to surmise that these were the sort of negotiations that also took place with Phil.

“One the regular way, but  _that’s it_.”  She said firmly, kissing Bucky on the cheek.  “Now come assuage the current kid’s completely baseless fear that he designed a room so terrible that Captain America won’t ever want to come over again now that he’s seen it.”

“Of course he’s coming over again, we’re moving in this week, right Steve?”  Bucky said, clapping him on the back.

“Sure, Bucky.”  Steve agreed, groaning internally.


	15. Midnight Snack

Tony had tried to prepare himself for Captain America living in his house.  Well, Darcy and Phil’s house, but it was where Tony had grown up (at least, he’d grown up here as much as he’d grown up anywhere).  

He’d gotten used to the idea of Steve watching a movie with them, his bare feet resting on the coffee table, or Steve in his pajamas eating cereal… every version of Steve he thought he could encounter.

But when he walked into the kitchen at 2 am and saw Steve eating ice cream straight from the carton in only his boxers, Tony realized that there was no way to adequately prepare himself for Steve.  He was like a fucking marble statue of Apollo, if Apollo wasn’t an asshole.  He had bedhead, and there was a drip of melted ice cream running down his stomach that Tony wanted to lick.

_Stop that,_ he chastised himself, but  _oh god_ , he couldn’t stop.  It was a super-human undertaking even to make eye contact.  

“Hey, Tony,” Steve said, glancing down at himself, “I’m sorry, I didn’t think anyone was even awake.”

“No, no,” Tony said, putting his hands up, hands that he definitely was not thinking about running all over Steve’s impossibly defined abs.  “Your house, you should do as much weird secret eating as you want.”

Steve laughed, rubbing the back of his head in a way that made his hair stick up even more.  “It’s not really secret eating, it’s just… the serum, I’m always hungry.”

“Hmm… Protein imbalance?”  Tony thought out loud, already mentally cycling through supplements that might satisfy better than a quart of Rocky Road.

Steve shrugged, rinsing his spoon off in the sink and putting it into the dishwasher.  “I don’t know,”  He admitted, “But I drink a lot of protein shakes.”

“You should let me run some tests.”  Tony offered, then backtracked when he saw the look on Steve’s face.  “Or, not, or I could not, I’m going to just go back to my--”

“No!” Steve said, a little too loudly.  “Sorry.  I mean, that’s really nice of you, Tony.  To think of doing something like that for me.  Bucky and I are staying here, and… the Initiative… You’re already doing too much for me.”

“You’re family, of course I’d do something like that.” Tony said, giving Steve’s arm a reassuring squeeze before he realized that meant that he was  _touching Steve’s arm_ , and he snatched it back.

“...Thanks, Tony.”  Steve said, looking at the hand he’d pulled back curiously.  “You really think about me that way?”

“I’m not thinking about you any way.”  Tony said defensively, before his brain caught up.  “Oh, you mean as family.  Of course, you’re practically my brother-in-law, right?”

“...Right.”  Steve agreed, making a small face.

“Still not on board, eh?  I hear they’re having like, eight kids now.” Tony said, remembering that conversation with a shudder.

Steve winced.  “That… may have been my fault.”

“Steve, I thought we were on the same side here!  I’m shocked, I’m  _betrayed._ ”  Tony said, pressing a hand to his chest.  “Although, you know, I don’t actually live here, I could theoretically avoid their hoards of children forever.  You’re really only punishing yourself.”

“I know.”  Steve moaned, covering his face with his hands.  

_I need to leave,_ Tony thought, noticing that Steve looked a little… cold.

“Yes.  So.  I just stopped by to take a ni-- to take a nap.”   _Oh my god someone stop me._   “So, I’m going to go.  And do that.  Nap.”

“Oh!  Of course.”  Steve said, and seemed about to offer his hand before deciding against it.  “Goodnight Tony.  Sleep well.”

_That is impossible._ Tony thought miserably, and headed to his room for what was absolutely  _not_  going to be a long night of thinking about Steve.


	16. Helpful

Darcy knelt down to look Phil in the eyes.  “Phil,”  She said seriously,  “I am not going on a reality TV show.”

“But  _Darcy_ , you have to pick a dress, and  _that’s what they do._ ”  Phil insisted earnestly, “You don’t have to be  _on_  the show, can’t we just get the people  _from_  the show?”

“Phil, why do I need them when I have you and Pepper?  You think anyone could possible have better taste than  _Pepper_?”  Darcy asked, hitting where she knew Phil was weakest.  He squirmed, torn between his deep admiration of Pepper and his love of Say Yes to the Dress.

“I  _guess._ ” Phil finally admitted doubtfully.  “But, Darcy, you don’t know what kind of dress you even  _want_.”

_That’s because I don’t care,_ Darcy thought, but she knew better than to say that to Phil.  He seemed perennially convinced that there was a princess in Darcy waiting to come out, and that if he could just find the right outfit it would happen.

Darcy thought her dream wedding would involve her wearing jeans, walking into a courthouse, signing some shit, and leaving, but she didn’t want to watch Phil cry himself to sleep.

“I’m sure whatever you and Pepper pick out will be lovely.”  Darcy assured him, kissing him on the cheek before standing to go look for Tony.  Phil made a huff of dissatisfaction and went back to his tablet, flipping through veil lengths and table decorations.

The idea of the wedding was sort of terrifying.  Although she’d enjoyed Phil’s idea of a wedding shower (particularly the kittens), she didn’t relish the crowds.   _I don’t want to do this in front of everyone,_ Darcy thought, looking down at her engagement ring.

But Phil didn’t really understand half measures.  

Darcy found Tony in the kitchen neglecting a sandwich.  Steve and Bucky were doing some kind of gymnastic training exercise in the backyard, and Darcy paused to watch, appreciating the muscles of Bucky’s back as his shirt rode up while he walked backwards on his hands, saying something that made Steve laugh.

When Steve flipped into his own handstand she heard Tony make a garbled noise.

“Interesting.” Darcy commented, and Tony jerked so hard he knocked his plate off the counter and into his lap.

“What’s interesting, nothing is interesting.”  Tony walked over to the sink to wet a rag to wipe the mustard off of his pants, deliberately turning his back on the window.

“Okay, nothing is-- Wow.  Damn.”  Darcy tilted her head, trying to get a better view of what she had to assume was the boys practicing some kind of wrestling move.  “You wouldn’t think it, him being such a big guy, but that is some remarkable flexibility.”

“Oh, right,”  Tony said sarcastically, rolling his eyes as he finished scrubbing the last stain.  “Like I’m going to fall for-- Mother. Of. God.”

Darcy leaned on the counter with her head in her hands, doing her best to mentally record the sight of Bucky pinning Steve with his prosthetic arm while he tickled him with his free hand.  “This is the best thing I have ever seen in my entire life.”  She observed.  Tony seemed to have become completely non-verbal, the cloth in his hand dripping onto the floor unheeded.

Steve managed to work one of his legs free and leveraged his body upwards to hook it around Bucky’s head.  He seemed to be strangling him using just his calf muscle.

“I wonder if--”  Darcy started, as he managed to free his other leg and imprisoned Bucky’s head, choking him with his thighs until he tapped out.  They both lay still on the grass, as if the play fight had exhausted them.

Tony carefully set his rag back in the sink, and left the room without looking back.

Darcy glanced from Tony’s destroyed sandwich to Steve with his arms behind his head on the lawn, the whole twitter disaster coming into clearer focus.  

They came in a few minutes later, Steve heading straight to the fridge to drink half a container of lemonade in one long swallow while Bucky wrapped his arms around Darcy from behind, smelling like sweat and grass clippings.

“I am very turned on by you right now.”  She told him seriously.  Across the kitchen she heard Steve inhale lemonade and choke on it.

“I would like to help you with that.”  Bucky promised, and Steve started coughing. Bucky glanced over in mild concern.  “What’s the problem, Steve, you think I’m not helpful?  I’m a very helpful guy.”

“Bucky,” Steve chastised, his voice a little raw, “Is that any way to talk about your lady?”

Darcy shrugged. “I’m fine with it.  Hey, can you watch Phil for a little bit, since you broke Tony?”

“Since I did what?”  Steve asked, looking around the kitchen as if he thought Tony was there and he’d missed him somehow.

“I’m just saying, mister choking-people-with-his-thighs, you have to give people warnings before they see that kind of thing.  Now Tony is probably laying down in a dark room, ‘recovering’,” Darcy added the air quotes for emphasis, and Bucky snorted, “And I would like to do that also.  So please say you can watch Phil for a little while.”

“Ah-- sure,” Steve said, blushing a violent red, “I guess so, Phil’s never any trouble.”

Darcy saw him stare at Tony’s discarded sandwich, and stopped herself from suggesting other ways Steve could be ‘helpful’.


	17. Hungry

Tony was not getting up in the middle of the night because he was hoping to catch Steve emptying another carton of ice cream in his underwear.  That was the sort of thing that only happened once in a lifetime.

He was just hungry more often now-- more than he’d ever been in his whole life.  Tony was used to ignoring his body’s hunger cues until he was dizzy and irrational, his stomach aching.  Now... it felt like he always wanted something, but no matter what was in the fridge, it wasn’t right.  So he tried some of everything, even the weird things.  Nutella on toast with salt, wasabi hot chocolate, sardines and peanut butter.  He kept coming back to chocolate-- it was almost that, but not quite.

He was on his way back to his lab with an incredibly disgusting sandwich when he saw the light under Phil’s door.  It was a little ajar, and he pushed it open with his foot.

Phil was laying in the middle of his bedroom floor with a notepad and his tablet, scrolling and scrolling through pictures of flower arrangements and cakes.

“Hey kid,”  Tony asked, trying to sound casual, “Can’t sleep?”

Phil looked up, visibly guilty.  “I’m just finishing up some things.  I’ll go to bed soon.”

Tony walked further into the room to look at what seemed to be an incredible list of wedding details, including the words ‘caramel fountain’.

“This is kind of the pot calling the kettle black, but… you know you don’t need to make huge, some might say ‘grandiose’ gestures of affection to make people love you.”  Tony sat down on the edge of Phil’s bed and looked down at his sandwich.  “And sometimes people don’t like it.”

“I… know that.”  Phil said, and he rubbed his ring finger.   _Fuck,_ Tony thought.  Phil had never been a very good liar.

“You know Darcy,” He gestured to Phil’s list with the sandwich in his hand, “Doesn’t really go in for this kind of stuff.”

“She  _does._ ”  Phil insisted, “She’s just shy.  She wouldn’t wear all that stuff, if she didn’t like it.”

Tony raised his eyebrows.  “No?  She wouldn’t do it because she thought it would make you happy?”

Phil looked down.  “I-- No.”

Tony shrugged, getting to his feet.  “Suit yourself kiddo, but… I think you know I’m right.”

He was almost out the door when Phil finally replied.  “I don’t really like all the people.”  He admitted quietly.

Tony laughed. “None of us do kid.  I think we all liked the kittens, though.  And I don’t know what a carmel fountain entails, but I’m on board with it.”


	18. Or Something

Steve had never been down to Tony’s lab before.

Normally he's listening to some kind of hard rock, that makes Steve's floor shake, but today it sounds like dance music.  Something you’d hear in a club, with neon drinks and gogo dancers in cages or something.  He’s chuckling at that mental image, Tony in one of those horrible disco suits on a light up floor, when he sees Tony through the glass doors .

And suddenly, it’s not funny anymore.  He’s dancing while he works, not coordinated about it, but there’s something about the way that he moves…  _He’s relaxed,_ Steve realized.  He didn’t know if he’d ever seen Tony without tension in his shoulders.

He’s wearing a T-shirt that has been washed so many times that the fabric is almost transparent at the shoulders, and carhartts with burn holes from welding-- even his shoes look old and dirty.  It’s a complete 180 from his suits, but Steve likes it.  He seems more real this way.

 _I think I was intimidated by him,_ Steve thought, watching Tony use a wrench as a microphone with a grin.  When what you saw of Tony Stark was the press conferences and the suits, it was easy to feel that way.  Now...  Steve has seen him barefoot on the living room floor losing an argument with a five year old about flower arrangements.  He’d collapsed onto the carpet and refused to get up until Phil had told him he was right.

When Steve knocked, the music cut off abruptly, Tony running a hand over the side of his face that left a swatch of grease on his skin as he came to the door.

“Hey Cap.”  Tony said, and glanced down at himself with a frown.  He didn’t seem relaxed anymore, and Steve was sorry that he’d come.

“Hey Tony,”  Steve said, trying not to look at the black smudge of oil on his cheek in case it made him feel self conscious,  “I was just making lunch-- Well, I mean, I’ll make it if you want some.”

“...If I don’t want some, are you going to have one of those horrible protein shake things that you drink straight from the blender?”  Tony asked, raising an eyebrow.  

Steve laughed and felt his face heat, which Tony seemed to enjoy. “That’s not a no, Steve-o.”  He observed.  “Okay, give me a few minutes to get cleaned up?”

“Sure thing, Tony.”  Steve agreed.  When he turned to leave, he saw Tony smell himself and make a face out of the corner of his eye.

 

Tony was decidedly too impressed with what was, in Steve’s estimation, a pretty subpar goulash, eating two plates while making moaning sounds that made Steve blush all the way down his neck.

“Why are you perfect at  _everything?_ ”  He demanded, taking a bite so big that Steve was honestly concerned about his ability to swallow.

“I’m not.”  Steve said, thinking of the time Tony had caught him in this same kitchen stuffing his face with ice cream.  It was hard to imagine he could intimidate Tony, especially after something like that-- but maybe he was still seeing Captain America, instead of Steve Rogers.  “You should get to know me better.”

“Ah-- what do you mean?” Tony asked, giving him a sideways glance.

Steve shrugged, pushing the rest of his goulash around his plate.  “I mean, stuff like this.  We don’t really hang out that much.”

Tony set his spoon down. “You... want to have lunch again?”

“Sure.”  Steve shrugged, and reached across the table to wipe a smear of gravy from the corner of Tony’s mouth with his thumb.  “Or something else.”

Tony’s mouth fell open.  “I-- Right.”  He stood up as if he suddenly needed as much space between them as possible.  “Right.  Or something.  I just need to-- I’ll be back.  Later.”

 _Well,_ Steve thought, watching Tony flee with the same level of panic as if the kitchen had been set on fire,  _that’s either a good sign, or a really bad one._


	19. Yes Homo

Tony was definitely avoiding him.  

At first Steve was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.  It was  _possible_  that he really had gotten a phone call as soon as he walked into the house, even though Steve hadn’t heard it ring.  Maybe his phone was on vibrate.

It was also possible, but less probable, that he really had dropped something behind the couch.  He couldn’t have dived behind it as soon as he’d seen Steve.  That would be ridiculous.

But when Steve goes out back to use the pool and Tony almost drowns holding his breath underwater, he has to face the truth.

“What is  _wrong_ with you?”  Steve demanded after hauling Tony bodily out of the pool, watching him cough another mouthful of chlorinated water into the grass.  It probably took some of the sting out his words that he was rubbing Tony’s back.  “Look, I get it, you don’t like me, you don’t have to be such an asshole about it.”

“I-- What?”  Tony asked, looking up at Steve with his eyelashes stuck together in wet spikes.  It was hard to be angry with him when he looked like a sad, damp kitten.

“Yesterday you hid behind a couch when you saw me.”  Steve said, offering a hand to help him up.  Tony just stared at it, and Steve made an exasperated noise.  “What, Tony, you think if you touch me some of my gay is going to rub off on you?”

“Some of your… You’re not.”  Tony shook his head decisively.  “No, you-- I mean, at least bisexual, if we’re going to entertain the idea, which, while entertaining, is-- No.”

“Well, that’s good to know, I’ve been so sure I was gay.  As I am only attracted to men.”  Steve said, torn between annoyance and amusement.  “I’m relieved to have an expert on my sexuality here to explain what else could cause that.  Vaccines, maybe?  No, can’t be that, I’d be autistic  _and_ gay then...”

“Are you-- You’re messing with me right now.”  Tony said, still sitting on the ground in a pool of water.  “I mean, like with the lunch thing.  You’re messing with me.”

Steve stared, wondering if Tony might be messing with  _him_.  “I was flirting with you.”  He said bluntly,  “With the lunch thing.  I sort of thought I’d offended you.”

“...What is  _happening_ right now?”  Tony asked, looking around like he wasn’t sure where he was.  “I-- No.  You weren’t flirting with me, Steve, that was-- being friendly, because we live together.  Sort of.”

“Tony, I  _just_  told you I was flirting with you.”  Steve said, flabbergasted.  “It’s okay if you didn’t like it, but that was what I was doing.”

“ _Why_ , though?”  Tony asked, and he had such a bewildered look on his face that it occurred to Steve that Tony might actually be shy.  He was always so bombastic and gregarious, but maybe that was his public persona, like the one Steve used when he had to put on the mask.

“Because I like you, Tony.  If you want to just be friends, that’s fine, I’d like to be your friend.  But if you wanted to be something else…”  He shrugged.  “I’d like that too.”

Steve stripped off his shirt and Tony’s mouth dropped open.  “Let me know.”  He called over his shoulder before diving into the pool to swim laps.


	20. Coney Island

Darcy woke up and immediately felt that something was wrong.

It wasn’t just that Bucky wasn’t there-- the sun was already slanting over her bed like it was Sunday and they were letting her sleep in.  Phil hadn’t laid out clothes on the chest at the foot of her bed, and when she turned to the nightstand her alarm clock was unplugged.

When she stepped cautiously in the hallway, the house was quiet and still in a way she wasn’t used to even at night.  At night, at least Darcy could imagine Tony was awake, somewhere in the lower levels of the household.  This was the stillness of an empty house.

There was no one in Phil’s room, or Bucky’s.  When they’d made his room, Darcy had lain in the bed once to get a feel for it-- to see if it felt like a good place.

It did, but it also felt empty.  Unlived in.

He kept most of his things in here, but Darcy didn’t think he’d ever slept in that bed.

 _Is that okay?_ She thought, sitting down on the mattress.  The shirt he’d worn last night was on her floor, but she recognized the pair of sweatpants by the bookshelf.  That was the routine they’d fallen into-- he spent the night with her, but they got ready separately.  

There were a few things in her room, the kind of things boyfriends used to leave at her apartments over the years.   _This isn’t going to be like that,_ Darcy thought, looking down at her ring.  Bucky wasn’t going to be another old T-shirt in the bottom drawer of her dresser.

But the house was empty, and for a moment it felt like everyone had disappeared.  When she’d first become responsible for Phil, Darcy had been a little daunted, but she’d never wanted out of it.

If Howard hadn’t died she’d still be working for Jane in the lab, sharing the one bedroom apartment that had been all they could afford in the city.  Going out on Saturday nights, and sleeping until noon.  Maybe that was supposed to be what freedom looked like.  

But she  _wanted_  Phil to bug her at 6 am, if the alternative was waking up alone.

For just one morning, though, maybe she could be that girl again.  What  _would_ pre-Phil Darcy do?

There’s a note on the kitchen counter for her telling her Bucky took Phil to Coney Island, and cold pancakes in the fridge that she eats with her fingers.  There’s a small part of her that wants to wreck the place a little, like she’s in high school and her parents are out of town.  Walk around naked.   _Something._

She settled for taking a can of whipped cream back to bed with her so she could spray it directly into her mouth.

 

Phil took in the tableau before him in open-mouthed horror.

Darcy was still in her pajamas, curled up in a ball around one of her pillows.  A cardboard container of pad thai takeout was sitting on the floor with a pair of chopstick jutting from it, and her laptop took up the space Bucky usually occupied in her bed.

“Bucky, she answered the door in her  _pajamas._ ”  Phil whispered, staring at the food that was already developing the oily shine of something spoiled.

“Probably,”  Bucky agreed, keeping his tone light.  “Not the worst thing she could have gotten up to without us, right?”

Phil looked doubtful, obviously experiencing some difficulty imaging anything that could be worse.  He crawled onto the bed before Bucky could stop him, patting Darcy’s shoulder until she opened her eyes.  

Darcy made a gesture that started as a stretch and ended as hug that pinned Phil against her chest.  “Hey kiddo.  I missed you guys this morning.”  She said, kissing his hair.

“You smell like peanut sauce.”  Phil accused, snuggling his face into Darcy’s shoulder.  “You ate food in  _bed._ ”

“Sure did,”  Darcy agreed,  “But since you guys are home, I’ll get dressed and we can have dinner, okay?”

“It’s too early for dinner.”  Phil protested, but he was already climbing down from the bed to go to Darcy’s closet and pick out her clothes.

“So, we’ll go somewhere.”  Darcy suggested, opening her arms at Bucky in invitation.  He settled himself into the space Phil had vacated and found that he had been right.

“You  _do_ smell like peanut sauce.”  He informed her, although it didn’t bother him.  It was kind of nice to see her so relaxed.

“Well, since you _left_  me,”  Darcy smacked his shoulder,  “I went back to my ex.  The internet.  And the internet does not not care if I eat thai food in bed.”

Bucky eyed the computer.  “He’s no good for you baby.  Take me back.”

“You can’t make me choose, I love you both.”  Darcy said, but she closed her laptop and shoved it to the side so there was more room for him.  Bucky didn’t take advantage of it, comfortable where he was.

“So.  How was Coney Island?”  Darcy finally asked, and Bucky groaned.

“It sucked.”  He said bluntly, trying to repress how often Phil had kept looking around like he thought Darcy might show up.  “You should come with us next time.”

She made a face.  “I am… really not a Coney Island girl, Bucky.”

“Cotton candy, stupid boardwalk games, what’s not to like?”  He countered, frowning a little.  If anything he would have said  _Phil_ would hate Coney Island, but he had been charmed by it.  That might have just been because Bucky had a lot of stories about going there with Steve, though.

“That part of it is fine, it’s more the large crowds of strangers and men groping me part that I’m not excited about.”  Darcy said, rolling her eyes like she was talking about something mildly annoying.

“That sort of thing happen a lot?”  He asked, trying to sound casual about it and failing, if the soothing way she starts petting his back is any indication.

“Not around you.”  She said, as if that made it better.  “But it has happened exactly zero times in my own home, so I’m glad you guys went without me.”

That first date, when she’d said people hassled her when she looked too nice, there was a part of him that had thought it had to just be the rich guys.  The kind of guys who thought everything belonged to them.

Bucky sighed and tried to ignore his deep disappointment in the people of Brooklyn.  “Next time we’ll bring Steve.”  He cajoled.  “Me and Steve?  No one’ll even think about bugging you.”

“Right, because we’ll be mobbed by people who want his autograph instead.”  Darcy countered, but she seemed at least a little persuaded.  He’d forgotten that Phil might be within earshot until he spoke.

“That’s why you didn’t want to wake up Darcy?”  Phil asked, standing in the doorway to her closet clutching an armful of clothes.  “You thought people would bug her?”

“I wanted us to hang out a little bit alone.” Bucky said honestly, sitting up so he could look Phil in the eye.  “But yeah, I also figured it might not be her scene.  Too crowded.”

“Too crowded.”  Phil repeated, nodding with a serious frown creasing his forehead.  The outfit he set out for her seemed different than what he usually picked.  Bucky hesitated to call it ‘comfortable’, but it was at least a little casual.  “I need to go-- change some things.”  He said, looking distracted, and walked out of the room without even picking out shoes.

Darcy raised her eyebrows in surprise, then shrugged.  “Well.  Okay.  So, I know how the internet feels about eating in bed, but what about you?”

Bucky cast a dubious glance at the takeout.  “I really don’t think that’s good to eat anymore.”

“Of course not, but I’m pretty sure that still is.”  Darcy pointed to a can of whipped cream sitting on her nightstand.

“Kick the other guy out of bed and we’ll find out.”  Bucky promised, getting up to lock the door.  He heard her laptop clatter, as if she’d just pushed it straight onto the floor.


	21. You Like Me

Tony knocked on Phil’s door at 5 am wondering when his life had started to spiral so far out of control.

“Help me.”  He said without preamble when his brother opened the door in his tiny pinstriped silk pajamas.  “I’ve changed my clothes 23 times this morning.”

“What are you getting dressed for?”  Phil asked, rubbing his eyes and blinking to clear them.

“A thing.  So, look, if I wear a suit, that screams ‘hey look at all my piles of money, I’m very impressed with myself’, but if I wear a T-shirt it seems like I don’t care…”  Tony ran an agitated hand through his hair, thinking of all the clothing he’d left piled by his bed.  “I tried slacks but it just seemed so mom jeans?  But I have to wear some kind of pants, Phil, I  _have_ to wear pants.”

“Flat front dress pants.”  Phil suggested, yawning.  “Button up but no tie, shirt sleeves rolled up.”

“Color, what color?”  Tony demanded, pulling out his phone to take notes.

Phil squinted, trying to mentally catalogue Tony’s closet.  “Grey or black pants, french blue shirt.”

“What does french blue look like?”  Tony asked, and Phil sighed heavily before slipping on his house shoes to follow Tony back to his bedroom.

 

Steve walked into the living room around noon and found Tony asleep on the couch with his shoes on, the edge of his watch cutting a crease into his skin.  It looked uncomfortable, but he hesitated to wake him.  He had that open expression Steve remembered from the unguarded moments in his lab, before he’d ruined it with his presence.  

He wished he had a sketch pad so he could draw him that way, but he had already been invasive enough.

When he remembered the way he’d taken his shirt off in front of him, he wanted to dig a hole and bury himself in it.  There had been something about the way Tony had acted the night he’d run into him in the kitchen that had made him think… it had been stupid.

Steve sighed, rubbing a hand across his face.

On the couch Tony made a sleepy muttering noise and opened his eyes with a start.  “Steve?”

“Hey Tony.  Sorry, I’ll just-- get out of your hair.”  He said, backing out of the room.

Tony scrambled to his feet.  “No, hey, stop!”  He protested, and put his hand out as if to grab him by the arm.  He froze with his fingers hovering just above his skin.

“I had a plan here,”  Tony muttered, snatching his hand back to run it through his hair,  “But-- shit.  Look, do you still want to have dinner?  Or lunch, or… Whatever you want.”

“Really?”  Steve said, and he knew he was smiling like an idiot.  “I’d love to.”

“Yeah?”  Tony asked, the tight lines bracketing his eyes relaxing.  “Okay.  So you want to-- okay.”

Tony pushed up the sleeves of his shirt, and Steve noticed the way his hands were shaking.

 _He really is shy,_ Steve thought, wondering how much of Tony’s abrasiveness was just nerves.  

He shook his head at himself.  “Tony, can I hug you?”  

Tony opened his mouth, then looked at Steve's hands.  Steve took a chance and wrapped his arms around his shoulders.  

Tony’s body went from stiff and tense to loose in a heartbeat.  It reminded him of the way dogs leaned against you with their whole body, and he found himself petting Tony’s hair to soothe him.

“You like me.”  Tony murmured against his chest, and Steve gave him a squeeze for reassurance. 

“I like you.”  He promised.


	22. Mom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the purposes of this AU, we are going with the Earth-13133 version of events when it comes to Janet Van Dyne, because I love Jan, and I hate Hank Pym. 
> 
> For those of you NOT into the comics, this means Jan was never married to Hank Pym, but instead married Alex Summers (aka Havok, Scott Summer's brother), and had a daughter named Katie.

Phil had always had a tendency to get… absorbed in his plans.  It was one of the few ways he reminded her of Tony-- which probably made it a Howard thing, actually.  

It was hard for Phil to really achieve a Tony level of absorption.  He bathed, and he ate regular meals, but Darcy was beginning to notice a worrying redness in the white of his eyes, as if he were staying up to stare at his tablet after she put him to bed.

When he took a mug of coffee from the table after breakfast and nestled into the corner of one of the couches, face too close to the screen while he tapped something that looked like a fabric swatch, Darcy decided she’d had enough.

“Hey, kiddo, hold still for a second, you’ve got something on your face.”  She said, leaning over the armrest to wrap one hand around his tablet.  

Phil tilted his cheek towards her, frowning.  “What is it?”

“Me.”  Darcy answered, and pulled the computer out of his hand as she kissed the side of his face with a loud smacking sound.

Phil’s nose wrinkle of disgust was too cute for her to not kiss him on the nose, and then there was really no stopping her.

“Darcy,  _Darcy,_ you’re getting lipstick all over my  _face._ ”  He protested, turning so it was easier for her to kiss his other cheek.  Sometimes he was like that about physical affection-- he seemed to like to pretend it was an imposition while inviting more.

She kissed his eye instead.  

“ _Moooooom,_ that was my  _eye_ , don’t kiss my eye.”  He complained, then froze.  

 _Don’t make this weird,_ Darcy ordered herself, kissing him on the forehead loudly, as if she hadn’t noticed.  “I’m not kissing your eye, that was not your eye, and this,”  She kissed over his ear, “Is definitely not your eye, what are you  _even_ talking about, how has the education system failed you so badly?”

“I don’t go to school,”  Phil pointed out, both hands now plastered protectively over his ears,  “I’m not  _in_ the education system.”

“That is true.”  Darcy acknowledged, drawing back to get a better look at his face.  “Do you want to be?”

“No.”  He muttered, looking aside.  “I like being with you.  During the day.”

“Okay.”  Darcy rubbed her thumb over his cheek where she’d stained it pink.  “But if you want to do something else sometimes, we can.  Like, stuff with other kids.”

“We don’t know any other kids.”  Phil told her.  

Darcy kissed his face again.  “We  _could_ know other kids, though.  I mean, what about the Richards?  They have kids.”

“You just want to bug Tony.”  Phil accused accurately.  “They’re too old.”

“Um.  Katie Summers?  She’s your age.”  She suggested.  “And her mom’s a fashion designer, right, Janet Van Dyne?”  

“...Maybe.”  Phil muttered, cheeks pink from more than just her makeup.  Darcy wondered if he had a crush on the mother or the daughter, but decided not to delve any deeper.

“We’ll call them.”  She promised.  “You wanna go there, or have them come here?”

“Not  _now!_ ”  Phil blurted out, looking down at his mussed clothes in dismay.  “We can’t-- we’re not  _dressed_.”

“Well then, scoot.”  Darcy swatted in the general direction of his butt.  “Because I’m calling them, and if they wanna come over, I’m saying yes.”

“You wouldn’t.”  Phil said, his eyes wide and horrified.

Darcy reached for her cell phone with exaggerated slowness.

“You’re wearing a dress!”  He yelled over his shoulder, already halfway to his bedroom to change.

“You’re not wearing a suit.”  Darcy countered, scrolling down her contact list.


	23. My Eyes

Darcy had always felt that Tony was being dramatic when he freaked out about her in a low cut dress, screaming ‘my eyes, my eyes’.  But she had to admit that walking in on Tony and Steve making out might have caused some permanent psychological damage.

Obviously, Darcy could appreciate two attractive men together (the Bucky/Steve wrestling incident came immediately to mind), but there was something disturbing about one of those men being Tony.  He was Phil’s brother, which made him (sort of) her son, and it was really awkward to see her son stradling Steve’s lap with his hands up his shirt, thumbs working circles under the fabric.  

There was a strip of skin on Tony’s neck that looked shiny, like Steve had licked him there-- which was hot and also disgusting, because that was her son, and nothing that her son did should be hot.

“Oh god, my eyes.”  Darcy called loudly, and watched Tony recoil so violently he fell onto the floor.

“Hey Darcy.”  Steve said, giving her a completely unselfconscious smile as he leaned over to offer Tony a hand up.  He was rubbing the back of his head where it had struck the floor, his hair in disarray, and Darcy found herself noticing the muscles in his arm way more than she usually would.

 _I am scared for life_ , she decided, noting distantly that Tony had definitely been working out.  

“Hey Steve.”  Darcy returned, leaning casually against the door frame.  “You debauching my kid’s brother?”

“Trying to.”  Steve replied, giving her a smirk that reminded her of Bucky, and Tony made a sputtering sound.  His expression was an adorable mixture of embarrassment and stupid happiness that made her want to hug him.  

“Very well.”  Darcy said, giving him a regal nod.  “Carry on.”

 

She found Bucky and Phil having a whispered conference at the kitchen table, tapping at something that was immediately whisked from her line of sight.

“Whatcha doing, kiddo?”  She asked, leaning in to press a kiss to Phil’s hair and smell the too-expensive scent of his shampoo.  There was always something heartbreaking about it to her.

Five year old boys shouldn’t worry about how they smelled.

 _Fuck you, Howard,_ she thought, wrapping her arms around his shoulders to give him the hug she’d wanted to give Tony, _and whatever you did to make your kids so fucking scared._

“...Nothing.”  Phil lied unconvincingly, his tablet clutched close to his chest.

Darcy raised her eyebrows at Bucky, letting her chin rest on Phil’s head to demonstrate that she was committed to the hug for the long hall.

“Nothing.”  He corroborated, his face sweetly blank in a way that would have been convincing on someone who didn’t look about to smirk.

“Hmm.”  Darcy murmured skeptically, but let the subject drop in favor of playing her new favorite game, Kiss Phil Until He Called Her Mom.  She was sure that some sort of information exchange could be arranged later.

After all, she _had_ just acquired a prime piece of intel.


	24. Bad Luck

Darcy felt it was an exaggeration to say she had been  _avoiding_ the wedding preparations.  It wasn’t possible to avoid them; many of them required that people do things to her body, after all.  Her participation had been minimal, granted, but she’d sat through the fittings and the hair stylist consultation-things.  She had some idea what  _she_  was supposed to look like, at least.

As far as the rest of it went, though… Well.  Phil had always had such definite ideas about it-- it seemed better to let him handle it unimpeded.

On top of that, the day of the wedding Phil had woken her up an hour early and refused to let her have more than one cup of coffee.  Not that she'd slept much anyway, since Bucky had been banished to his bedroom because it was 'bad luck' to see the bride before the wedding, and she had a hard time falling asleep alone.  Suffice to say, she was out of sorts, and Darcy felt she could be forgiven under the circumstances for not noticing that something was wrong.  

The makeup artist was giving Darcy’s skin a chance to ‘breathe’ after being washed when she wandered out into the dining room in her robe.  She didn’t know what was supposed to be showing up, but even she could tell that the house looked sparse _._   The decorations were as excessive as expected; albino peacocks wandering the lawn, butterflies fluttering around the dining room in shades of shimmering gold that didn’t seem like they could possibly be natural, flowers and fairy lights on absolutely everything in sight… but there was hardly any seating, or catering.  What food there was looked lovely and varied, but it looked like enough to feed a few dozen, not the hordes she was expecting to be trampled by.

“Phil?” Darcy called, finally catching him outside of a meeting with one of the staff.  “Are you sure the caterers got the order right?”

“Hmm?” He frowned, tapping something on his tablet distractedly and obviously paying no attention to her.  His resemblance to Tony was suddenly glaring, despite the way his looks took after his mother.  Darcy covered his eyes with both hands.

“Are you sure the caterers got the order right?” She repeated, then slid her hands down to wrap him in a hug.  His little body was stiff with tension.  “I know you’ve been stressed, if you made a mistake, it’s okay.”

“No?” He glanced at the table of amuse bouche laid near the door in anticipation of the first guests as if to reassure himself of their suitability. “Those are just the appetizers.”

“...Okay.” Darcy agreed, thinking that it seemed inadequate even for an appetizer, “I’m supposed to start getting changed, but get me if you need me.”

Phil turned to give her state of preliminary preparation a once-over, eyes zeroing in critically on her temporarily unchipped nails.  He nodded once, then began tapping at his tablet, wandering off without another word.

Darcy made a mental note to schedule some time with Pepper to discuss how she managed Tony-- she had a feeling some of her techniques might come in handy.

 

After they put her in the dress Darcy tried not to freak out, but... this dress was not fucking around.  Someone had probably spent years of their life tatting its lace by hand, sewing tiny seed pearls into its bodice and along the hem of its veil.  It was a dress that seemed to have expectations about who should be wearing it, and what kind of event they should be wearing it to.

Darcy wanted out of it immediately.

“I want to get married.” She told her powdered and glittering reflection, trying to breathe.  

Mirror Darcy did not look particularly convinced, even under all those fake eyelashes. “Well, no, I don’t,” She amended, “But I want to  _be_ married, so I have to do the getting.”

“We could still elope,” Bucky suggested, rolling out from underneath the bed, and Darcy smacked her knee against the leg of her vanity in surprise.  Bucky winced, his mouth twisting in apology.  He rolled to his knees and started to fold up the white layers covering her legs. 

“We really can’t.”  She disagreed, letting him run his hands up her calf to press gently at the joint.  It was barely tender, but Darcy felt steadied by the contact.  “Phil’s sobbing if we ruined his wedding aside, I blackmailed my maid of honor into taking the first dance with your best man, and I need to see everyone lose their shit.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow but didn’t otherwise comment, kissing the knob of her knee before smoothing the skirt of her dress down and getting to his feet.  Darcy let him pull her up with him, rubbing her thumbs over the mismatched backs of his hands.  “I do want to get married.”  She assured him, thinking about what he might have heard while he was hiding under the bed, and brought both of his hands up to press her lips to them.

Bucky ducked his head to chase her mouth, and Darcy relaxed into the kiss.  “You built me a bedroom,”  He reminded her, nuzzling his nose against her cheek, “Before we’d even gone on a real date.”

“Yes, I am an embarrassment.” Darcy muttered, feeling her skin start to heat. “What’s your point?”

“The point is, I know you want me.” He said it with a complacency that might have come across as cocky if she hadn’t been able to feel him rubbing his hand against her engagement ring.  “I’m not gonna get scared off.”

“No insecurities at all that might lead you to, oh, say, hide under a bed?” Darcy suggested, taking a moment to examine Bucky’s state of dress.  He looked a jacket away from being ready, suspenders tight over his crisp white shirt, cufflinks in place and shoes polished.

“Just waiting for you, doll.  Thought you might need a little…” Darcy felt him shrug, his face still close enough to hers that she could feel his eyelashes brush her skin when he blinked.  “But, you know, it’s bad luck.”

“Phil’s been watching me like a hawk.” Darcy had, in fact, tripped over him sleeping on the threshold of her bedroom door when she’d tried to sneak over to Bucky’s room the night before.

“I figured.” He pressed a kiss into the underside of her throat, “You steady now?”

“A thousand gold butterflies were not bred in vain.” She promised, lifting her chin to give him better access.  “Can you stay?”

“The kid’s not gonna be happy.” Bucky warned, but he seemed as disinclined to leave as she was to see him go.

The thought ‘ _What’s the worst thing that could happen’_  passed through Darcy’s mind, but she had sense enough not to voice it.

Of course, she ripped her dress all the same.


	25. Those Three Words

Jan stepped back to eye the newly mended seam in Darcy’s dress critically, then nodded.  “Good as new.” She declared, flashing a confident smile at Phil where he hovered in the doorway.  To Darcy’s experienced eye, he was a wreck, but she supposed that to a relative stranger like Jan he’d look calm enough.  She didn’t know that when he was really upset he liked to hold his hands behind his back and clasp them tightly-- it probably just seemed adorably formal.

Watching him give her dress the same long assessment Jan had, Darcy wished that he’d let her hold him, but of course, he’d been appalled by the suggestion that they crumple her dress that way.

 _I hate you,_ Darcy told her outfit silently, _I hope Bucky rips you in half later._

The skirt she glared at twinkled with pearls and fine, delicate lace that seemed to know that a man like Bucky had grown up too poor to do anything so wasteful.  Its swish when she stood sounded like the snooty ‘hmph’ a duchess would make in a period drama right after she snubbed the plucky heroine.

Darcy snubbed her right back, crouching in a very unladylike fashion to give Phil’s cheek a kiss.  “There, see?  No harm done.”

“It was the bad luck.” Phil gave her skirt another hard look before clenching his hands to pat the fabric. “But it looks perfect now.  Thank you Jan.”

“Glad to help!” Jan gave him another smile before starting to pack up her sewing kit. “That’s what friends do, right?”

“...Yeah,” Phil agreed, never having really had a friend before but willing to take Jan’s word on it. “Thanks for my pocket square.”

“It matches Katie’s dress,” Jan told him with an innocence that Darcy was immediately jealous of.  Her face had always been too expressive to pull off that sort of thing.  “You’ll look so cute together! Promise you’ll have the photographer take pictures.”

Phil didn’t go exactly _red_ , but his skin tone definitely got a few shades warmer. “I can ask… I mean, if she wants to.”

“It would be such a help,” Jan said, still impressively blank faced.  “Katie gets nervous having her picture taken-- I’m sure it’d be more fun for her with a friend.”

Phil took this information in with a serious nod.  “I’ll go help now.” He promised, and Darcy wanted to kiss him all over again.  She wondered how Jan had known _that_ was the card to play with Phil-- if everyone else could see what anxious child he was as clearly as she could.

Jan’s face looked fond as she watched him leave the room.  “He’s a very compassionate boy.” She observed.  “I’m glad he and Katie seem to get along.  She really _is_ nervous.”

“He is.” Darcy agreed, then raised her voice. “You can come out of the closet now, he’s gone.”

“Now that _would_ be bad luck,” Jan mused as Bucky emerged from his hiding place to take Darcy’s hands, squeezing them firmly to dispel her nerves. “The groom coming out of the closet, I mean.”

“Oh no.”  Darcy deadpanned, grinning as he brought her hands to his mouth and kissed her engagement ring.  “It’s all over. Call off the wedding.”

“Yes.  I like men.”  Bucky agreed, his voice equally flat.  “But don’t give up on me, Darcy.  We can still make this relationship work.”

“Just say those three words.”  Darcy tried for a swooning pose, gazing towards the ceiling with one hand pressed to her breast.  “And I’ll still marry you.”

“You can watch.”  He promised, and Darcy sighed dramatically before collapsing into his arms.

Jan watched them with raised eyebrows, then smiled, shaking her head.  “You deserve each other.  And I mean that in the best possible way.”


	26. Natasha

Sam regarded the slow moving waterfall in front of him with something between awe and disbelief.  He knew what it had to be, from the delighted expressions of every person who speared a chocolate on a fondue fork and dipped it in-- he just couldn’t believe it.

“It’s a caramel waterfall.”  Pepper supplied helpfully, carefully biting into a raspberry on a toothpick that she’d dipped in it moments earlier.  Had Sam been wearing anything nearly as expensive as she was, he’d have avoided dripping foods, but Pepper had the air of a woman who never dropped things on herself while she was eating.  “We wanted a fountain, but it turns out it’s a little too thick for that.”

“You wouldn’t want to have two fountains anyway,” Sam agreed, glancing at the chocolate fountain to his left and its attendant pile of fruit and dipping forks.  “That would be gauche.”

From across the room he could hear Steve laughing at something, the deep one he had when he really thought something was funny instead of the high one he forced out when he was pretending.  He had his hand pressed to Tony’s chest, as if he were trying to stop him from doing or saying something, while the other man grinned and seemed to talk faster.  Sam shook his head.  “Man.  If you had told me a couple of months ago I’d see Cap dance at Barnes’s wedding with Tony Stark…”

Pepper shook her head slowly.  “I was so close to getting him to agree to stop using twitter after that fiasco.  So close.  He’s only going to take this as encouragement.”

Sam shook his head in sympathy, shuddering at the idea of being Stark’s manager.  “Still,” Sam relented, glancing at the table where the bride and groom sat, “Can’t argue with the results.”

Pepper followed his lead, looking over to where Bucky sat with Phil on his lap, giggling while Darcy threatened him with a forkful of cake, and her eyes softened.  “No, I can’t.”

“You know, I wanted to ask her out, after she blew through that autograph thing.” He smiled at the memory.  He’d never seen Steve so thoroughly cowed in his life.  “But, Bucky beat me to it, and the rest, as they say, is history.”

“Well, if you enjoy opinionated women, I think you’re at the right party.” Pepper patted his arm consolingly, scanning the room for someone.  “I’m sure you can find one to dance with, especially if you’re partial to redheads.”

Sam raised his eyebrows, momentarily confused-- he’d seen Pepper looking quite cozy with a black man in a military uniform earlier in the evening, so she couldn't mean he should dance with _her_ \-- before seeing the woman she was beckoning over.

“ _Are you trying to set me up,_ ” He hissed out of the corner of his mouth, “ _With Natasha Romanov.”_

“Oh good, you’ve already met.” Pepper said, as if she were completely oblivious to why he was reacting this way.  “Of course I am.  Everyone else is too intimidated to ask her, but you seem robust enough.”

Natasha had the smooth rolling step of a panther as she slid through the crowd towards them, a chocolate covered slice of mango in one hand and a walkie talkie in the other.  She was frowning a little, like something had recently annoyed her, but when she smiled and shook his hand he thought she seemed friendly enough.  “Too many fans on the perimeter,” She explained, tilting the walkie talkie in her hand to explain its presence.  “Normally I just wear an earpiece and listen in, but I need to be able to respond if they get into trouble.  I _told_ the agency we needed more guys for this.”

“Natasha works for a private security firm,” Pepper explained, as if she wasn’t a legend in the business.  “She's here with one of the guests.  Natasha, this is Sam Wilson.  He handles Steve Rogers.”

Sam laughed, then crossed his arms self consciously.  “Oh man, that’s… don’t say that in front of him.  But yeah, I guess that’s what I do.”

Natasha gave Sam a long stare that made him feel like he was in high school, standing in front of a classroom, naked.  “He seems a challenging man to contain.”

“He can be,” Sam admitted, shifting his hands to his pockets to relax his body language. “But he’s a good man.  It’s a privilege to work with him.”

Natasha made a small ‘hmm’ noise, shooting her walkie talkie a dark look.  “I would like to say that I felt similarly, but I do not.”

“Your talents are being underutilized, I’ve always said so.”  Pepper said, reaching out to touch Natasha’s arm sympathetically.  “If you ever want a change of pace, we could really use real security for Phil and Darcy.  We’ve got Happy, of course, but he’s really got his hands full with Tony.  Phil’s getting older, and once he starts going to school…”

Natasha frowned at the hand on her arm-- not as if it displeased her, just as if it were a surprise.  “I will consider it.  I would have conditions.”

“I’d be happy to talk to you about your concerns at any time.” Pepper smiled warmly, and Natasha returned it with a little notch of bemusement in her forehead.  It was obvious to Sam that Natasha wasn’t used to being genuinely liked, and that she was a little confused by it.  “It would be a relief to know that someone capable like you was looking after them.”

Natasha turned to examine the little boy, and then the adults with him in turn.  “He seems mature and well behaved.  I don’t usually like to work with children.”

“Phil is an old soul,” Pepper agreed.  “But he can be somewhat naive socially.  It would be easy to play on his sympathies, to lure him away… I worry about kidnappings.”

Natasha nodded, a sharp focus coming into her face.  “That’s the way I would do it.”  She agreed.  “He looks kind.”  She said the word ‘kind’ strangely, like it was a word she was used to using as an insult.

“Maybe tonight you can talk,” Pepper suggested.  “See if you can see yourself working with him.”

Natasha made a noise of agreement, still examining the boy.  Sam wondered what it would feel like to have this woman guarding you, and decided it would be a bit like being a baby lion.

“In the meantime, I thought you might like to dance with Sam,” Pepper put a hand on his shoulder, as if she thought Natasha might need to be reminded of who he was, “And then if you’d like, I’m sure he’d be happy to introduce you.”

Natasha gave him another appraising glance, that notch of confusion reappearing his her forehead, and Sam decided that he really didn’t like whomever she was currently working for.  It was always dangerous to make assumptions, but Natasha’s whole demeanor was so defensive that he couldn’t imagine she got the respect or support she needed.  She was used to being set up for failure, if the cautious way she evaluated every situation was anything to go by.  Sam’s respect for her professional reputation skyrocketed-- if she could achieve what she had with the deck stacked against her, he couldn’t imagine what Natasha’d be able to do once she was really in the driver’s seat.

He hoped he’d get the chance to find out.  He offered her his hand and smiled, trying to look inviting.

Looking unwillingly charmed and a little suspicious, Natasha accepted it.


	27. Wedding Night

For the second night in a row, Darcy woke up alone.

 _This is sort of the opposite of what I was going for with the whole ‘marriage’ thing,_ she reflected, but without any real heat, and groped for the white silk robe that had come with her wedding things.  Wearing it made her feel sensual and a little old fashioned, like she should be running across a moor to meet her lover in an abandoned castle.  As with most of Phil’s choices, it seemed impractical and extravagant, but it a way that could be fun with the right attitude.

Following the fairy lights down the stairs, Darcy could hear the fair sounds of talk and laughter echoing from the kitchen.  Noises carried easily outside of the bedrooms and their disturbingly thorough soundproofing (another Howard legacy that she prefered not to examine too closely).  It was always strange for her to imagine what kind of life he had envisioned when he’d designed this house, with its open floor plan and its isolated bedrooms-- a place for parties with little retreats for privacy?  A family home where most of the space should be devoted to togetherness?  Either answer made her feel sad.

Around the time that the floors transitioned from being warm and heated to being pleasantly cool, she heard the first voice. “--would be a more desirable position.” It was a woman’s, faintly familiar.  Darcy thought it might be the security guard Pepper wanted to hire, the woman with red hair and a calm, direct gaze. “If you’re certain that there is one.”

“Pepper’s said it five times, Nat.” A man said as Darcy reached the bottom of the stairs, a mid-sentence yawn drawing the words long. “Just take it.  You’re too good for the Red Room.”

There was a moment of icy silence. “When I’m told I’ll be guarding a woman, and that woman is the financier,” Natasha finally said, her voice cold, “And yet I have never spoken with her, I have doubts.”

“No, you’re right, it’s completely unreasonable, I mean, she couldn’t possibly be busy at her own wedding, she’s obviously avoiding you--Ow!” The young female voice cut off with the sound of something muffling her face. “Butthead.”

“Children should be seen and not heard,” The male voice was a little loud, trying to be heard over what sounded like a slap-fight. “Look at Phil.”

“He’s asleep!” The girl argued, then grunted, and there was a muffled crashing noise.  Darcy peaked around the kitchen door, feeling self-conscious about being in a nightgown in front of strangers.

A girl of about thirteen was in the middle of a fairly half-hearted wrestling match with a blond man in his mid-thirties, repeatedly smacking him in the face while he grinned.  From what she could see of his body, overpowering the girl would have been simple, but he didn’t seem inclined to stop her.  The girl leaned her face over near his arm, mouth open like she was going to bite him, then sighed.  “It’s no fun if you’re not even going to _try_ , Clint.”

Her voice was a loud whine in the otherwise quiet room, and Natasha looked up sharply from where she had been staring down at her lap.

“If you wake this child,” Natasha warned, her fingers stroking down the hair of the boy in her lap, and Darcy felt something squeeze in her chest.  It was rare for Phil to relax enough to fall asleep around other people; he trusted this woman-- or he was so exhausted from the wedding that he’d just collapsed.  Either way, her careful touch spoke of respect for her new responsibility.

“Once he’s out, he’s out.” Darcy told her, and watched the room still. “Unless it’s fireworks, he’ll always wake up for those.”

“ _How fucked are we_?” The girl stage-whispered, staring at Darcy with wide eyes, and Clint immediately slapped a hand over her mouth.

“Don’t swear in front of the real adults, Katie-Kate.” He tried to give Darcy a charming smile, but the anxiety tightening the lines around his eyes undercut it.  His gaze kept flitting over to Natasha, like he was hoping for guidance.

She hadn’t stirred from her position, one hand still making gentle passes over the smooth bowl of Phil’s hair, but there was a slight tension in her body, as if she were preparing for movement. “Ms. Lewis.”

“Hello Natasha.” Darcy felt strange using the woman’s first name when she’d used her last, she couldn’t pull it from her memory.  It had been something Russian.  She stepped further into the kitchen, bypassing the tangle of limbs that was Kate and Clint, her bare feet sticking audibly to the tiles as she walked across the floor.

Kneeling on the floor, Darcy rubbed her thumbs lightly against Phil’s temples until he started to wake, his brows knitting in distress as he woke.  He nuzzled his face into Natasha’s leg, then blinked at the bright light of the kitchen.

His confusion cleared when he saw her, reaching out his arms to be picked up like the child he was. “Hey, kiddo,” Darcy picked him up and stood, steadying his weight on one arm and rubbing his back. “You wanna go to bed?”

He nodded, then waved a hand at Natasha before pressing his face into Darcy’s neck.  He was asleep again almost instantly. “See? Out like a light.”

Natasha nodded, hand lifted to return Phil’s wave.  Something in that solemn little gesture was oddly touching.  Darcy smiled at her, trying to look reassuring. “I’ll call you tomorrow about the job.” She promised.  

Hoisting Phil more securely into her arms, Darcy was halfway out the door before she remembered why she’d left her bedroom in the first place. “If you see my husband, send him to bed.”

It still felt strange to use the words ‘my husband’, but Darcy thought she could very easily get used to it.

"So, if that's a definite 'yes' on the job, I feel like now is the time to mention that I want a raise." Kate announced, and there was a clang as someone threw a wooden spoon at her.


End file.
